


Scar Tissue

by RichiesToesHurt



Series: To Build a Home [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Asthmatic Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh plays the keyboard, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Car Accidents, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Excessive use of the word fuck, F/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hospitalization, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marijuana, POV Richie Tozier, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier loves music, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, richie tozier plays guitar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichiesToesHurt/pseuds/RichiesToesHurt
Summary: Richie Tozier never thought getting home from a night of work would be so difficult. However, with the winter came disastrous driving conditions. In the end, the trip took him two weeks, and he couldn't help but wonder if the scar on the side of his head would eventually be hidden with hair.orRichie Tozier gets into a serious accident.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: To Build a Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670944
Comments: 154
Kudos: 129





	1. Doesn't "t-boned" have something to do with steak?

**Author's Note:**

> GENERAL TW: This fic has extensive discussion of serious injury frequently, if that isn't something you feel you can handle, please take care of yourself and read something else.

With winter break, came winter weather. An absolute _shit fest_ to drive in and an even _bigger shit fest_ to drive in at night. Richie was at work now, finishing up the rest of his duties that came with working at a movie theater on a Friday night. Endless sweeping through empty silent theaters, cleaning up mess after mess of spilled popcorn and candy wrappers. Richie didn’t mind it so much though, because his coworkers were cool, and he was pretty happy to have a temporary relief from the stress of classes.

They were in the middle of their junior year of college, currently halted in the bliss of their winter break, of which they all stayed for again, for the second year in a row. Celebrating Christmas with a secret Santa and a family feast. Their new year’s eve celebration was great as well, Richie finally got to finally share that new year’s kiss with his favorite person on the entire planet.

Eddie was great, loving Eddie _openly_ was great! Just… everything about Eddie was great. For coming up on their official one year anniversary, they were still in what people called the “ _honeymoon phase”_. Making love just about every night, and when they weren’t, they were tight in each other’s arms, every minute they were home it was spent with each other, neither of them growing sick of the other’s presence. Richie found himself even studying more throughout the previous semester, simply because he wanted to be in the same room as Eddie, who studied _a lot_.

Living in the house with everyone was still great as well, no one got super annoyed with each other, they all kind of clicked together. Stan, Mike, and Bill taking up the second floor bedrooms, Bill and Mike in the rooms that Eddie and Richie used to be in, who now shared the basement. Bev and Ben still shared the master on the main floor of the house, now pretty much over-run with Bev’s fashion supplies, a sewing table, countless rolls of fabric, and a bunch of other stuff Richie couldn’t name. Ben didn’t mind it one bit and enjoyed hanging out with her while she worked, even helped her with some of her pieces when the time came to. Richie knew this because Bev frequently asked Eddie to be her stand-in model, taking his measurements and using them to create pieces.

Richie loved sitting in on times like this. Making lewd comments about how Eddie looked in the pieces, which resulted in various sewing supplies getting thrown his way and threats of him being next. Bev was deep into her fashion major now, and the demand for what she called _‘mock-ups’_ and _‘portfolios’_ were at an all time high. She was stressed most of the time, wanting her pieces to be perfect and cohesive, and Richie was happy to be there to make her laugh to take some of that stress away.

Eddie decided to commit to a psychology major, because he was interested in that stuff. He frequently brought up how Richie’s actions were influenced by a certain aspect of his brain chemistry and it always cracked him up. He was so nerdy as of late, and it was pretty fucking adorable. 

Though Richie hated his biology degree, couldn’t remember the last time he frowned and that was something he was overjoyed about. He was the happiest he’s ever been… because each night, Eddie was tucked into his side. He was the happiest he’s ever been, because he could talk about everything that stunted him, he could be open about anything and everything and it helped. He loved his life, not like he didn’t before he and Eddie got together, but he just loved it _more_ now.

He had gotten _a lot_ better at his guitar playing and was very proud about it, frequently blasting his amplifier and pacing around their bedroom as he riffed on his guitar. His epic Cardinal red Gibson covered in sharpie illustrating band logos and names of his favorite songs and artists. He also frequently reached for his acoustic, a dark brown walnut that they all bought him for his last birthday. He preferred it when he felt like playing his favorite folk pieces, John Lennon was a favorite of his. He would sit cross legged on their bed as Eddie lay on his stomach listening to him play, sometimes singing along, usually at Eddie’s request, and other times not.

He had given up his cigarette habit completely now, loving the way he could more easily breathe and kiss Eddie without worrying about the taste of cigarettes on his mouth. He still smoked marijuana whenever they had some though, mostly because it was a household event. Everyone but Stan would sit in the living room, passing around joints or the bong that Bill had somehow acquired. Eddie still hadn’t come around to smoking directly and still preferred to shot-gun his hits with Richie. Of which usually ended with Eddie on his lap and a very heated make-out session. They kissed in times like that like their friends weren’t even there, hands traveling and bodies moving without a second thought, reacting entirely on instinct and desire.

They didn’t go to parties as frequently anymore, mostly because they were all taking turns throughout the year of turning twenty-one, so they didn’t really have a need to. They had strict rules from Stan and Eddie that they could never throw a party in their house, but there was never really an urge, because everyone that Richie would have wanted to invite was at the house anyway.

At some point during most weekends, they would get plastered and jump and dance around the living room to songs blaring from Richie’s stereo. It mostly at least _began_ with a combination of Richie, Bev, and Bill, but usually ended with all of them. Even Stan let loose a lot of the time.

Over the semester, the house became more lived in overall. Through a bit of arts and crafting, Bev had managed to frame and hang the puzzle that they worked on throughout the summer in their dining room deemed ‘Loser Library’ considering how often it was covered in their homework and textbooks. The puzzle was a pleasant looking landscape of a lake, all sparkling water and bright green trees, accents of flowering colors and a bright blue sky with clouds and some birds. They put out more decorations around the house as well, mostly funny figurines, or bright rugs that they found during their trips to Goodwill.

They had mounted some wall stands for Richie’s guitars in their bedroom on the wall closest to the stairs, which was kind of deemed to be the music room of the house with Bev’s keyboard and Richie’s collection of amplifiers, stands for music he never used, shelves with countless CDs, records, and cassettes with all of the respective equipment to play each of them. When they hung the wall mounts, they hung not two, but three, because Richie decided to start saving for a bass guitar. He wasn’t sure of what model he wanted yet, but he knew he wanted a nice one, so he was taking his time with consideration for each model, taking frequent trips to their local music store to narrow down his selection of consideration. Eddie always came with him and sat behind the drum set they always had out, occasionally playing it when he got bored of Richie admiring various guitars.

They always joked about Eddie getting a set of his own, jamming out with Bev and Richie, adding a vital aspect of beat and rhythm to their tiny unnamed band of two. It’s not like Eddie _knew how to play_ or anything, it was just always kind of a fantasy of Richie’s, to have Eddie play along with him, always kind of picturing him on the drums ever since Eddie revealed that to be his instrument of choice. He had strong arms, and even stronger legs, he could keep a good rhythm and Richie couldn’t figure out if there was anything else you really needed, besides refining skills and coordination. Hell, Richie didn’t know how to play the drums, but he sure as shit would figure it out of Eddie came to him one day, asking for a lesson.

One of Richie’s favorite things was music, loving the way he could experience a song any way he wanted. He could speed a piece up, or he could speed a piece down. He could change the key completely and make a techno dance song somber, or a somber song a techno dance. He could fool around with music all day and be more than happy.

At work he would sometimes carry a broom around like it was his guitar, and play with it as if it was. Jamming out to the song in his head and performing for his coworkers, vocalizing the lyrics as well as the sound that the guitar was supposed to play. He always had them laughing on the ground and it was entertaining for him to have people be amused with him this much.

He pulled himself from his thoughts to continue sweeping the theater he was in, theater six to be more specific. Once he was finished, his coworker was to come in with the mop and bucket to clean sticky spots on the ground where people’s drinks had spilled. It was pretty gross actually, the way your shoes would get all sticky on the bottom and make a sound as you walked through the rows. He only really realized how gross it was, because one of his first thoughts when doing the repetitive act was always how disgusted Stan would be if he had been here sweeping instead of him.

He could picture the face he would be making too, clenched jaw and squinted eyes, the face he made when Richie would walk into the house with muddy shoes in the spring, or when Richie would be doing his homework in his entirely unorganized fashion. One night Eddie had brought up the fact that Stan _may have_ OCD, having read about it in one of his textbooks for a psychology class. Everything kind of made sense then, but they didn’t bring it up to him. It wasn’t really _that_ debilitating for him or anything, he just liked things clean and they all knew that and respected him for it.

“Hey Richie, are you done yet?” His coworker, Joshua called from the entrance to the theater, wheeling the big yellow bucket in, pushing it in front of him as he asked.

“Just about.” Richie replied, stretching and cracking his back, tight from hunching over the broom for so long.

Joshua sighed and sat down in one of the theater seats to wait for Richie to finish.

“Man, apparently we’re lucky as hell to not have gotten bathrooms tonight.”

“Why’s that?” Richie asked.

“Apparently there’s all kinds of _literal shit_ in the men’s room.”

Richie snorted into a laugh. “Fuck that’s fucking gross.”

Joshua laughed too, an exhausted kind of worn out laughter. He was tired and Richie was too, they were in the delirious stage you fall into at the end of a long day. And _fuck_ it had been a long day.

A new kids movie just opened that weekend, so naturally the theaters were louder and far more disgusting than usual. Practically the entire floor of theater one was a sticky disaster, Richie couldn’t help but imitate the face that Stan would make as he swept through.

They had already stayed a half an hour later than they were supposed to, it was close to two in the morning and Richie was starting to feel it in his eyes, growing heavy with exhaustion. They were three workers short tonight, due to a nasty flu virus going around that Eddie made sure _none of them_ would get, drugging them in the morning with vitamin C and urging everyone to get a flu shot. Once they done cleaning, they were good to go though, and they were close to being finished. Sweet relief was coming soon, he would soon be driving home and going to bed, cuddling up next to his warm bodied boy, a stark contrast to the freezing conditions outside.

When Richie was close to the front of the theater, Joshua started moping, they each half assed it a bit, due to exhaustion from the first five theaters and the fact that on a normal night they would be in bed by now.

Richie hyped himself and Joshua up with a song, one of the obnoxious dance tunes that Eddie and Bev liked to listen to. In his state of exhaustion, he couldn’t remember half of the lyrics or what the song even was, just new the tune and the chorus, so he ran with it. Screeching in his obnoxious falsetto and swinging the broom as he did a bit of a jig across the front of the theater. Joshua laughed at him and danced along as he went through the isles with the broom.

After that, he powered through the rest of the theaters, sweeping as fast as he could, and even picked up a second mop to help Joshua finish up. When they finished cleaning the theaters, they went to the lobby to help with the prep for the next day, cleaning out the popcorn maker, restocking the soda dispensers and mopping the tile behind the counter.

Then finally, after what felt like forever, they were free to go, Richie appreciated the time and a half pay for the hour and a half he stayed overtime, but _man_ did he want to go home. He was so desperate to crawl into bed with Eddie that he pretty much _ran_ to his car, waving at his coworkers in the parking lot, screaming about seeing them tomorrow.

He hopped into his shitty car and started it with crossed fingers, the engine turned over more than a normal car should have before starting, throwing its usual fit about doing what a car was fucking _made_ to do. It usually took _forever_ to heat up, and Richie had Eddie’s voice in the back of his mind about waiting until the engine was hot before actually driving, so that’s what he did. Warming his hands and bouncing his knees in what felt like his ice cube of a car.

Despite the weather being well into the negatives, Richie wore only a coat on top of his uniform. Eddie has scolded him for that exact ordeal countless times, in fact… the earliest occurrence that comes to mind is elementary school. Eddie rambling off a slippery slope of how Richie was going to get pneumonia and die as they sat on the bus together.

Richie smiled at the memory and decided to use the time to adjust his radio in the car, finding something that was playing music he wanted to listen too, settling on a station that was currently playing ACDC. When the car was _finally_ warm enough, he put it into drive, pulling out of the lot and onto the road that was icier than Richie had remembered.

The roads appeared to be just a solid white, slick with snow packed so hard together it formed ice, causing Richie’s shitty old and bare tires to slip and slide as he drove along. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and used the break more than the accelerator as he drove. A stark contrast to his normal fashion of driving, usually he had one hand on the wheel and a lead foot on the accelerator, zipping along the roads blaring music and hoping a police officer wasn’t around the corner waiting for him.

His drive home was usually twenty minutes, but he frustratingly felt that now, it was about to be somewhere close to forty. He sighed and groaned to himself. Leaning forward every so often to check for oncoming traffic as he passed through intersections.

Not _one inch_ of road was remotely drivable, for a normal car, for Richie’s it was like he was on a raft floating along a river. His tires were worn to hell and were _more than ready_ to be replaced. Eddie always scolded him about it and was close to taking his car into a shop himself.

 _‘I’m telling you Richie… I don’t trust that car.’_ Eddie had told him a thousand times.

Richie agreed that it was time for an upgrade, and was open to doing so until he remembered the fact that the car was where they had really _gotten together_ … all those months ago, driving home from Derry. They were so desperate for each other then, clawing at each other in the seat next to where Richie sat now. Chests heaving and secrets coming to light.

He was probably going ten miles per hour now, moving cautiously along a road leading up to a lighted intersection, the light had gone from green to yellow to red as he inched forward. He braked cautiously, pumping his foot on the pedal, and came to a safe stop at the light, a few cars passed in front of him, which was understandable because though their town was small, the road in front of him was a state route, so it almost always had _some_ traffic. It was mostly trucks at this hour though, and Richie couldn’t _imagine_ trying to drive something that big on a road like this. Entirely ice and barely visible in the occasional flurry of snow, picked up by gusting winds that sent Richie’s car sliding a bit.

The light was known to be a long one, so Richie passed the time by bouncing his legs together and swiping his hands across one another to warm them. Holding his hands briefly over the vents and feeling the foreign sensation of warmth spread across his fingertips.

As he was doing that, the song on the radio had switched to something that Richie didn’t like, so he changed it, flicking through station after station, enjoying the fact that with the late hours came his ability to have a _choice_ in the matter of what he wanted to listen to. It was rare to find a station playing commercials this late at night. The light turned green as he was narrowing in on his search and didn’t really pay attention to what the radio landed on as he accelerated, and he didn’t really have time to…

Because in the brightness of the streetlights, he didn’t register the truck barreling through the intersection to his left. Coming straight towards his car, speeding right through the intersection.

He didn’t register the truck until it was too late, crashing into his car right at the driver’s side door, he felt no pain though… because for the second time in his life… everything went black.


	2. Fuck, That Hurt...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up right now didn’t even really feel like an option it seemed to be… so hard, and so…distant. He was awake for sure, but he made no effort to open his eyes or shift his body because he didn’t feel… up to it… or maybe he couldn’t.

Waking up right now didn’t even really feel like an option it seemed to be… so hard, and _so…_ distant. He was awake for sure, but he made no effort to open his eyes or shift his body because he didn’t feel… up to it… or maybe he couldn’t.

He couldn’t really decide if he could open his eyes yet or not, so he decided not to, that could be the last thing to worry about, because his head felt so… heavy. He felt like his head was a giant balloon filled with water, he felt like it was a bulbous glob laying there on whatever surface he was on currently, felt that it was no longer the normal round shape of a head, but instead something more flexible, and mushy.

He gave an experimental wiggle to his toes, feeling satisfied with the way he felt them twitch and flex how they were supposed to… he tried next to move his legs, and found that he couldn’t… well at least not his left one… his right responded to him though, shifting ever so slightly. More of a twitch beneath whatever weighed on top of him.

Next he tried his fingers, not really _wiggling_ them, but more so shifting them, squeezing them with the minimal amount of energy he felt he had. Squeezing them experimentally and feeling the weight on top of his right hand shift away in a jerk, it scared him at first, not really recognizing it was there until he shifted his hand and felt the weight vanish.

After that he picked up on the _sounds…_ he couldn’t quite make them out… but it sounded like an exclamation from a voice that was… oh so… _familiar…_ and the clicking of something plastic, clicking over and over again, then lastly there were the sounds of someone scurrying out of the room. Among these sounds were the sounds of voices, two voices to be exact… a man and a woman… to people he had buried so deep in his heart.

He focused more on the voices, feeling the pain that came with shifting his face in response to growing more focused, an assumed furrow of his brow and flex of his cheekbones and forehead sent a spike of pain through his nerves, jolting his body further towards complete consciousness. He tried swallowing, because he was made aware of the foreign feeling of his throat then, and found that he couldn’t, or that something was blocking his way. He tried to shift his body a bit more, moving his torso then, trying to angle towards the familiar voices. He felt a hand at his right shoulder then, and two hands clasp his hand.

Worried, wobbling voices that he knew he loved so much urged him to stop what he was doing, and he did, because the fierce pain he felt then also told him it was a bad fucking idea.

It was then that he decided to focus on opening his eyes. His lids felt heavy, so heavy that he had to really focus to get them open, a mix of raising his eyebrows and squeezing his eyes shut finally got them open. It was only for a second, and he couldn’t see much of anything except for brightness and _so much_ white. His lids were so fucking _heavy_ that it was an effort to open them again, he tried his best to keep them open for a bit longer this time, and he was able to make out a brown blob where he knew his hand to be, he knew that shade of brown anywhere…

_‘Eddie.’_ He tried to say, but couldn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why.

The fact he couldn’t talk scared him more, coming out in a muffled croak at his throat and chest.

_“Shh-Shh…”_ Said Bev next to his head.

He shifted his head to the right a bit to see Bev, his eyes adjusted to the light as he blinked firmly at her, squinting as he did so. Her face was tear stained and swollen with emotion. Richie couldn’t quite figure out why, and why everything was so white… and so fucking _bright…_ it was hard for him to focus on much of anything for how much it gave him a headache.

_‘Bev?’_ He tried to say, but it only came out in that same croaked sound that scared him to his core.

“No… no don’t talk honey just wait…” Bev urged her hand firm at his shoulder as the other hesitated around his face, until she decided to brush her fingers against it somewhere along the right of it. She then leaned and pressed a kiss into the spot her fingers were seconds before. “I’m so happy you woke up for us…” She said a bit weepy.

Richie squinted at her because that’s about all he really _could_ do…

He then looked down to where Eddie slumped over the bed. His blurry mess of brown hair bobbed along with his sobs close to Richie’s hip, he could feel that his hand was clasped desperately with both of Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s cries echoed around the room, they were so honest and seemingly exhausted. Richie couldn’t help but feel his own jaw quiver, using all the strength he could muster to squeeze Eddie’s hand back, he could tell that it wasn’t a very strong squeeze, but it seemed to do something for Eddie, who brought the back of his hand to his lips.

Bev seemed to have noticed his distress. “Richie honey everything’s okay, he’s just relieved you’re awake, it’s been a rough couple of days…” She tucked his hair behind his ear, out of his eyes, that were still squinted trying to make out the features of her face with his blurred vision.

He made a confused face in response… _days?_

She nodded her head and took a hitching breath as a response to the new wave of tears that came over her. Her fingers continued to gently brush the hair out of Richie’s face and Eddie reached a hand to hold her wrist, his face still buried into the blanket at Richie’s hip, a weak offering of comfort that Bev seemed to take.

“Stan… went to go get the doctor… so he’ll explain everything…” Bev said, a bit weepy and exhausted.

Richie hated seeing them like this, so distraught over him, he didn’t even know what the fuck _happened_ all he knew was that he hated everything about it. He couldn’t talk, and he could barely move, his head fucking _pounded,_ and everything hurt. He didn’t even want to check if his fucking legs were there or if they were just pillows to _look_ like legs beneath his body, hell for all he knew, he could only be a torso with one arm right now, and that was quite honestly terrifying. He wanted to rip his blankets off and asses what the fuck was wrong with him, but Eddie needed his hand now and he was happy to hold him back.

He wasn’t aware of the tears that trailed down his own face until Bev started to lightly brush them away. Her eyes didn’t really meet his own though, they trailed along the left side of his face, seemingly staring everywhere _but_ his eyes, but especially on his scalp above his ear. Richie realized then that that spot was where most of his head pain was. His nerves spiked and he was then made aware of the heart monitor beeping somewhere to the left of his head. It had increased greatly as he picked up more and more on what was hurting and what he could and couldn’t move.

Eddie let go of his hand then and looked up at him, standing quickly to slot up closer to Bev. Seeing Eddie’s face made everything a little bit better, giving his heart something bright to focus on. No longer entirely focused on the pain and nervous fear he felt to find out exactly what the fuck happened to him. Though his face was swollen and distraught, it was a beam of sunshine through the cloud of fear and pain in Richie’s heart and mind. Something familiar, something he loved so dear.

Stan scurried into the room then coming around the bed to stand next to Eddie, fuck even _Stan_ had been crying. That’s when Richie _really_ knew it was serious. He tried to remember, then realized he couldn’t think of the last time he’s seen Stan cry… maybe when they were kids sometime…

“He’s on his way.” Was all Stan said, hand on Eddie’s back as the other hesitated above Richie’s knee beneath the blanket, settling for his hand that Eddie had held moments before.

Richie’s stomach felt queasy, but wasn’t quite to the point of needing to vomit… yet… though he wasn’t sure how that would even go, because if it had been _days…_ he wasn’t sure there was anything in his stomach _to_ throw up, and if he couldn’t even _talk_ then how the fuck would he vomit. He was scarred and confused and growing _very_ impatient over the fact that he didn’t know what was going on.

Eddie seemed to sense his distress because he leaned forward a bit, hand settling on the right side of his face, Bev switched places with him so he could shuffle closer.

“I know you’re scared.” Eddie said, it was close to a whisper and sounded very cautious as if he didn’t want to make anything worse.

Richie felt the soft pad of his thumb gently drag along his cheekbone. Richie melted into the touch and tried to focus entirely on that and not the way his head and chest currently seared with pain.

“You… you know who I am right?” Eddie asked then, in the same quiet cautious voice, Bev sobbed a bit behind him… and Richie noticed how she and Stan fell into an embrace.

Richie couldn’t believe that Eddie was asking that question, his face pained with how dramatic his features morphed into something of surprised disbelief, he brought his free and seemingly _only_ hand up to touch somewhere on Eddie’s arm as he nodded his head. _‘Eddie… of course I know who you are…’_

Eddie’s lip quivered and his fingers combed through Richie’s hair just above his right ear, he nodded a long and paid no mind to the tears trailing down his face, seemingly too worn out and exhausted to care about them anywhere. Richie used every ounce of strength he had to bring his arm to cup Eddie’s hot, red, tired face. Using his thumb to swipe at the tears beneath his eye. Eddie sniffled a bit more and turned into the embrace, connecting his lips to Richie’s palm.

They embraced like that for a bit longer, Eddie holding his hand and combing his fingers through that spot on Richie’s head, occasionally thumbing at the tears that still trickled from Richie’s own eyes.

“Okay… sorry about that I was getting all of his paperwork together.” The doctor came in carrying a dark blue folder and a clip board. A nurse followed him into the room and offered a light smile to the group of distraught young adults.

Stan and Bev sat in the two chairs next to Richie’s bed and Eddie didn’t move from his spot, shifting only to grip his hand. The nurse went behind Richie’s bed and messed with a few things back there as the doctor spoke.

“Okay Richard, Nurse Tracy is going to remove your intubation tube, you’re going to feel some discomfort.” Richie’s eyes darted and strained to view the light green tube at his mouth. Now having an explanation as to why he couldn’t breathe or talk.

Eddie started to release his grip on Richie’s hand as he shifted as if to move away, and Richie didn’t think he could handle that, so he squeezed his hand tighter. He needed Eddie to stay with him, and he did.

The nurse stood behind the head of Richie’s bed and reclined it, so he was lying a bit flatter. She got to work pealing the tape off of his mouth and then as quickly and as seemingly gently as she could, pulled the tube out of his throat. Richie immediately felt the urge to vomit then as the tube invasively grazed his gag reflex. Instead of vomiting though, his stomach wretched and nothing came out, it was a very painful experience, ending in a cough and a yelp of pain at the way the cough made his chest feel.

Eddie swiped his hand up and down the length of Richie’s forearm, in a comforting manor. Richie settled down and released the tension he had built up in his grasp on Eddie’s hand.

“Okay Richard I need you to tell me your full name and birthday.”

Richie moved his tongue around his mouth and squeezed his lips together repeatedly, clenching and unclenching his jaw, swallowing again and again to moisten his mouth and figure out how it felt to be normal again.

“Richie…” He tried to say, but it came out as a croaky grumbly mess, so he tried to clear his throat but cut that shit out quickly because of how much it hurt. “Richie Tozier… March seventh, nineteen seventy six.” He spoke slow and steady, alarmed by the searing pain running across his brain as he spoke.

“Okay Richie, it’s nice to finally speak to you…” His doctor spoke in a pleasant voice and Richie felt comforted by his tone. “My name is Doctor Carter and I have been treating you for the past few days. You have unfortunately suffered a very serious car accident in the early hours of January fourth, and it is currently Monday, January sixth and the time is eleven A.M.”

_Holy shit…_

“Do you remember where you were at the time of the accident?” Doctor Carter asked.

Richie nodded. “I was… driving home from work…” His voice fell to a whisper as he spoke, deciding that that was easier to speak in considering how much talking made his head hurt.

“That’s very good, I ask because you have suffered many injuries, some of which being severe brain injuries.” Doctor Carter spoke slow, even and soft. “Would you like me to run through your injuries with you now or would you like a few more minutes to process?”

Richie nodded his head, he just wanted to fucking _know._

Eddie squeezed his hand and sniffled a bit. Richie squeezed his hand back understanding now what had happened, and why Eddie, Bev, and Stan were a mess. Hell, now he understood why _he_ was a mess…

“Okay, so we’ll start with your head.” Doctor Carter opened the dark blue folder and clipped the stack of papers inside of it to his clip board. He cleared his throat before diving into the information.

“Alright… so your head took a lot of damage in your accident and I’m sure you can _feel_ that now. But I want you to understand that there are three grades of concussion someone could possibly have, and as they step up they increase in severity, grade one being a milder form of concussion, and grade three being the most severe. You, Richie, have a grade _three_ concussion, which is why you probably have such a _massive_ headache right now.” His voice was soft and comforting, Richie decided that he liked him.

He nodded as best he could to his statement because _fuck_ he was right, his head was fucking _pounding._

“I also need to inform you that we have on record that you have seized three times, and that the defibrillator had to be used twice, once in the ambulance, and once while you were in surgery.” His tone was serious and gentle, his eyes trailing across the faces of Eddie, Bev and Stan… an obvious touchy subject that they seemed to have some history over.

Richie took a deep breath, understanding now that he had fucking _died… twice._

He looked to Eddie, who was worrying his bottom lip and staring down at their connected hands. Richie shook his hand a bit gave him a squeeze. Thinking about a reverse in rolls is what brought the tears again, thinking about if it were Eddie laying in this hospital bed. Thinking about sitting idly by in the waiting room and hearing the news from a nurse that Eddie had flatlined in surgery and that they were currently resuscitating him. He could only image how hard he would cry. He could only imagine how loud his heart would shatter.

Eddie didn’t have to imagine though, because he fucking _lived it._ He was in the waiting room hearing that news. Realization of what it would feel like to lose your other half forever. The feeling of weighted loneliness, wanting _so bad_ for him to just _be okay…_

_“Eddie…”_ Richie said, weak and whispered.

Eddie’s glossy eyes met his own, his lip quivering and Richie could only imagine the thoughts rushing through his mind. Not thoughts, but memories, because Eddie _experienced_ Richie clinging to life. He experienced hearing news that usually resulted in an end to someone’s life. In this scenario the life was Richie’s, barely into his twenties with so much life left to live. That life being one at Eddie’s side.

“ _It’s okay…_ ” Eddie said, and Richie didn’t quite understand what he meant by it.

Doctor Carter mumbled something to the nurse, and she left the room with a nod. Richie didn’t pay much attention to the exchange or focused much on what he said. He was too focused on Eddie, standing next to his bed looking all broken and exhausted, and now Richie understood _why…_

They kind of stared at each other for a minute, crying and Richie _feeling so much…_ so much sorrow for the situation. He wanted to apologize for the hurt he’s put Eddie through, that he’s put them all through. He wasn’t sure if the accident was even his _fault_ and he wanted to apologize ten times over in spite. He wanted to apologize for literally _dying_.

The nurse came back then, now with another nurse who carried a chair in, one that looked like the two that Bev and Stan sat on. Nurse Tracy carried a dark pink tray, with a few glasses of water and two boxes of tissues. She placed one of the boxes on Richie’s bed by where Eddie stood as the other nurse set the chair down behind him.

“ _Thank you…”_ Eddie said, but it sounded choky and breathless. How it usually sounded when he needed a hit off of his inhaler.

_“Your inhaler.”_ Richie said as Eddie took a seat and accepted a glass of water.

_“They’re getting it.”_ Was all Eddie said because he was still in the middle of a heavy wave of tears and was trying to focus on drinking his water and calming himself down.

“Bill, Ben, and Mike went back to the house to get some things for us.” Bev explained, pulling herself together and wiping at her eyes with a tissue.

“Bev and Eddie are going to stay here with you.” Stan chimed in. “They can only accommodate for two, though we’d all stay if we could… and Bill called your parents earlier, there was only a flight from Chicago to New York, so they’re driving the rest of the way… they should be here tomorrow morning.”

Richie nodded, comforted with the fact that the hospital was allowing Eddie and Bev to stay, he didn’t know if he could do this alone…

They all took a few deep breaths and Bev, Stan, and Eddie had some water before Doctor Carter continued.

“Now Richie, your head injuries alone are pretty demanding in recovery so I just want to inform you that you are in great hands here and I say with pride that this group of medical staff is very skilled in helping people through injuries similar to your own.”

Eddie rested his head on the bed again, still sniffling and holding the back of Richie’s hand to his cheek.

Richie nodded at Doctor Carter’s statement.

“Now, unfortunately we had to shave away a good bit of hair in order to suture the gash at the side of your head, to prevent infection and to allow the air at the wound. You are welcome to take a look at it whenever you feel ready.”

Doctor Carter shuffled through the papers on his clipboard a bit. “So, that is about it for your head injuries, besides a few cuts along the left side of your face and scalp, nothing that we had to suture though. We’re going to move down to your chest…” He opened the blue folder again and pulled out a few sheets of what Richie was able to blurredly make out to be some kind of MRI scan or possibly an x-ray. “Now I’ve heard all about how you need your glasses…” Doctor Carter smiled towards Eddie’s head next to Richie and it warmed his heart. “So, I can show you these later, but what these depict are the fractures on your fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs on your left side, as well as the collapsed lung beneath. We were able to surgically correct your collapsed lung, as well as your fifth rib fracture, it was the worst of the three and you’ll be able to see that on our imagery.”

“Moving a lot is not a very good idea for these next few weeks, and you will see some very severe bruising along your chest as well as the small incision we made to correct your collapsed lung and rib.” Doctor Carter paused to gage how Richie was taking the information, continuing when he felt necessary.

“Moving onto your left arm, your injuries here were surprisingly not as bad as one would expect, your wrist was the only location in which we saw fractures. And you could see that it is casted and, like the rest of you, on the road to recovery. The tendons in your arm have taken some severe damage though so don’t be alarmed if mobility isn’t what it used to be, at least at first.” He moved the blanket down Richie’s torso to reveal his casted wrist, it was bright white and covered his entire wrist. Richie picked up his arm and moved it around experimentally. “With physical therapy and everyday movement, it should be back to normal with time.”

“And if you’d like to get a look at your chest bruising we can go ahead and do that if you’d like.”

Richie nodded, so Nurse Tracey untied his gown at the back of his neck and helped him to pull the sleeves down, Eddie sat up now and let go of his hand so he could slip the sleeves off completely.

Richie looked down at his chest as best he could, what was normally pale skin, was now mostly deep purple, with some red, blue, and green, blossoming around his rib cage and disappearing down the side of his torso. He noticed the incision that Doctor Carter referred to and tried his best to sit up a bit to get a better look, then decided not to because of how much it hurt.

Eddie shifted again, leaning forward a bit to view Richie’s chest. Richie’s hand found his shoulder.

“Hey… don’t look if you don’t want to…” Richie croaked, knowing that if it was Eddie in this bed it would be tough to view him like this.

“No… I want to see…” Eddie replied, placing a hand over Richie’s at his shoulder and letting his eyes scan the graphic bruising on his chest, ribs, and stomach.

Richie could tell that Eddie was working hard to not emote as he viewed his injuries, the way he clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes was a dead giveaway.

“Here is the fourth… fifth, and sixth ribs.” Doctor Carter’s gentle finger pointed out on Richie’s chest. Because though he’s filled out over the years, his shoulders getting bulkier, his arms and chest gaining some muscle, you could still see the outline of his ribs, which was finally coming in handy.

Eddie and Richie both nodded and Bev and Stan leaned forward to get a look as well.

“Now it’s going to take a while for your ribs to heal completely, I would say about six weeks of limited mobility, no lifting heavy things, or doing anything to cause further damage. A good rule of thumb would be that if it hurts to do something, don’t do that thing.”

Nurse Tracy helped him to put his gown back on, as Doctor Carter moved on to his leg injuries.

“So unfortunately, your left leg has suffered a pretty massive break at the knee, as well as your tibia and fibula. We have taken before and after x-rays of the injuries, and I can walk you through those as soon as your friends get back with your glasses. We had to go in and fasten a few internal fixations to hold the bones together, as well as _reconstruct_ the knee. Everything went great however, and it should heal fine with time and therapy of course.”

“Your _right_ leg isn’t broken at all, though we are pretty positive that you will feel a lot of pain there, considering how bruised the area is…” Doctor Carter folded the blanket to the left, to reveal the insane bruising on his right leg and the massive cast covering his left.

“I think I’m mostly purple…” Richie said then, croaking out his half assed attempt at a joke.

Bev, Stan, and Eddie especially broke into a sobbed laughter, Doctor Carter and Nurse Tracy smiled too.

“I wonder if we could find shapes in the bruises… like clouds… first one to find a dick gets fifty bucks…”

“Beep-beep Richie.” Bev said smiling through her wobbly tears.

“Is this normal?” Doctor Carter asked.

“Unfortunately, yes it is…” Stan said, though he was laughing and not sighing or rolling his eyes like how he usually did when Richie made inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times.

Richie giggled lightly to himself, happy to see his family crack a smile after what felt like ages… he realized he’s been spoiled all these years, not going a day without seeing their beaming faces.

Bill, Mike, and Ben walked into the room then, carrying Eddie’s red bookbag, and a duffle bag that belonged to Bev. Richie couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at them, only smirking because he felt like absolute _shit_.

“Hey man!” Mike said in a soft voice, leaning over the bed next to Doctor Carter, handing Eddie his glasses. “I’m happy to see you smiling.”

“Thanks Mikey…” Richie said, just as soft, if not softer.

Bill and Ben set Bev and Eddie’s bags down next to their respective chairs.

“I’ve missed you buddy…” Bill said, touching somewhere on his right shoulder.

Richie smirked up at him and nodded, feeling the familiar sensation of his throat tightening around emotion, Big-Bill… always one to make things teary-eyed.

“Hey Rich… I packed your Walkman and a few tapes. I know you haven’t used it in a while… I hope it still works. If it doesn’t you can borrow mine…” Ben said, all sweet.

“Thanks Haystack.”

Eddie gently situated Richie’s old glasses on the bridge of his nose. They were the ones he used for most of his adolescence, an old prescription in giant black frames. He didn’t feel like asking about the state of his newer ones.

He could see better now, connecting his eyes first to Eddie’s, his glossy brown eyes swollen but still so beautiful.

“Hey Eds.” He whispered with a soft smirk.

Eddie smirked back at him, brushing some of his hair away from his forehead and letting his fingers linger there.

His head felt a bit better now, probably due to the fact he was no longer squinting constantly, straining his vision to see as clearly as he could.

Ben, Bill, and Mike coming in must have been Doctor Carter’s cue begin setting up the machine on the wall next to Richie’s bed to view his x-rays, having already put the two of his left leg up by the time Richie payed attention. Next to him, Eddie riffled through his bag and pulled out his inhaler, dosing himself a few puffs and visibly relaxing with the medication.

“Now when your parents arrive, I’ll run through all of this again. And I’m sure that you don’t mind the viewing party, is that correct?” Doctor Carter was a little humorous in his assumption as he referenced all of the Losers cramming into the room, it made Richie smile a bit.

“Correct.”

“Okay, so…” He pulled what Richie thought previously to be a pen out of his pocket, only to extend it into what seemed to be a long, pointy, metal rod used to point out small details.

He didn’t have to use the tool to point to the break, it was quite clearly _snapped_ in multiple places. It was a complete disaster and it made him feel a bit queasy.

“You’ll see here that this is obviously your _left_ leg, and I’m sure I don’t have to point these breaks out to you.” He ran the pointer along the breaks along the two bones that made up his calf. “But if you’ll look a bit closer, you’ll see the breaks towards your knee, as well as the displacement of your knee cap.” His pointer addressed the region of his knee, he now noticed the smaller fractures around there that Doctor Carter spoke about.

“You’ll see in the next set of imagery how we addressed those with internal fixtures.”

“How long will his leg take to heal?” Eddie asked.

“It’s hard to say right now, but if I had to give you a range… six to eight weeks to get the cast off. Then after that, it’s hard to say how fast we’ll be walking normally again.” Doctor Carter said with a slow nod.

Eddie nodded in response, obviously taken aback a bit by the information.

“Will I have to stay here?” Richie asked.

“We’re going to keep you here for two weeks, to monitor your lungs and head trauma. We’ll be moving you to one of our more permanent rooms later today, this is actually one of our post-op rooms, I’m sure you all will be a bit more comfortable in there. I hear that one of our larger… nicer rooms is open, so we’ll set you up in there.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to afford all of this…” Richie said than, remembering now that money existed, and it sure was a problem.

“Oh, you’re not paying for any of it.” Bev chimed up, voice firm.

Next to him Eddie shook his head, in agreeance with her.

“The accident wasn’t your fault. You got t-boned by a truck… the police pulled the footage from the traffic camera at the intersection. We saw it yesterday.” Stan said.

“Oh…” Was all Richie said. He was never one to really grasp much of an understanding of shit like insurance and loans and bills, he didn’t really have a reason to, because his parents paid for most of his college education and he was still under their insurance. But he did know one thing, if you get in an accident and it wasn’t your fault, the guilty party pays.

“I’m sure that takes some stress off of the situation.” Doctor Carter chimed in, a bit of a smile and a nod.

“ _Sure as shit does…”_ Richie mumbled, with the state of how much his head hurt, he didn’t really bother controlling what came out of his mouth, and Doctor Carter didn’t really seem to mind his dirty mouth.

Doctor Carter gave a bit of a laugh as he switched the x-rays on the viewing panel. He walked him through the internal fixations they screwed into the bones of his leg and it made him feel dizzy to think about. After that, he showed him the MRI scans of his lung and brain, showing how his lung had been collapsed and was now pretty close to normal after his surgery, and how his brain was luckily pretty normal, having not suffered any hemorrhages. Though, brain hemorrhaging was something they wanted to monitor these next few weeks.

They looked briefly at the x-ray of his arm, and Doctor Carter presented a diagram from his folder indicating which of his tendons were severely sprained. As he spoke, Richie wiggled the fingers of his left hand and felt exactly what he was talking about, searing pain shot through his forearm and he visibly flinched.

_“Fuck…”_ Richie said then, all emotional and distraught… Doctor Carter was confused, but Eddie wasn’t.

“I know…” Another wave of tears fell upon Eddie as he comforted Richie at his shoulder. “You’ll get there again I promise…”

His guitar playing was what fell onto each of their minds. The skill he cherished, the skill he worked at frequently. His favorite hobby, his favorite expression of himself… priding himself in mastering the skills of playing the guitar any way he wanted, playing any song that came to mind. He could only imagine the pain that would come with a position of the simplest cords.

He couldn’t help the way his lip quivered as he started at his fingers, swollen and bruised, almost entirely useless… hitching breaths shot pain across his chest. His broken ribs, pissed at him for crying again, and frustration just made him cry more.

“He plays guitar.” Stan quietly filled in Doctor Carter.

“Ah…” Doctor Carter said. “Well Eddie here is correct, eventually you should get full range of motion back. With dedication to physical therapy you should get there in roughly six months.”

Richie’s cries were silent and full of emotion. All he really wanted to do was hug Eddie and cry into his shoulder, but he couldn’t. Tears fell down his cheeks faster than Eddie could swipe them away with his thumb. Richie nodded after a minute to Doctor Carter’s words.

He didn’t know what to do, or say… he could only lay there and cry, as Eddie tried his best to comfort him. The thought of not being able to play only amplified by not being able to hug Eddie… or maybe even _hold_ Eddie… all he wanted was to bury his face in his neck or chest and act as if none of this was happening. Act as if he was fine and trying his best to imagine that they were together at home, in bed, warm beneath the covers. Away from this situation, away from the invasive lighting and medical talk.

The only thing he could do, was close his eyes and cry, upset that none of that could happen, in the near future at least.

“I understand that this is a lot to process Mr. Tozier… I am happy to step away for a little while to give you time to adjust. Please know that help is a button away if you need anything.” Doctor Carter spoke soft and kind. “Nurse Tracy will be back in a while to help you with a meal, please try your best to drink some water in the meantime.”

“Thank you…” Richie wanted to say, but it was Eddie instead who spoke. Richie could tell that Eddie has taken a liking to Doctor Carter, and he was happy about it.

Richie nodded again, agreeing with Eddie’s ‘thank you’ even though he wasn’t in the headspace to utter the words himself. There was a beat of silence of Richie just crying, overwhelmed now and completely distraught. Running through everything in his mind of what he now understood.

He died… _twice…_ and his family had to sit at the sidelines watching everything happen. Well not even watching… just hearing about it which in Richie’s eyes kind of made it _worse._ He was in a terrible accident so now he was out of a car and a job, and was destined to sit on his ass for a few months doing nothing. On top of it all… he couldn’t even play his guitar anymore. A cherished routine of sitting down with Eddie or his thoughts at least once every day, just appreciating music with a guitar in his hands. Loving the way he could adjust the feel of a song or look back on memories that it reminded him of. It was a lovely routine, and one that he couldn’t come back to for a long fucking time… it was mental torture…

It was unfair that he couldn’t just pull Eddie into bed with him right now, couldn’t hug and kiss him how he wanted to. It was like it was like last year all over again. Eddie as some _untouchable_ entity that he knew he couldn’t love. It was painful in every way to think about, it caused his chest to heave more and his breaths becoming sharper in every aspect of the word.

Eddie cried more too and shifted his chair a bit to rest his lips on his shoulder, sniffling a bit as his hands gripped Richie’s, his lifeline in this whole thing. If Richie didn’t have Eddie’s hand to hold, he could only imagine how unbearable he’d be. How distraught he’d be over this whole thing. To know that Eddie was there at his side, still so eager to love him made everything a little better.

“Are there any questions, or anything I could do for you before I leave?”

Richie shook his head, and flashed him a weak smile, he was thankful for Doctor Carter.

“Alright… I’ll see you in a little while then.” Doctor Carter left with a curt nod, and the nurse adjusted a few things with the IV that was going into the wrist of his arm that Eddie currently held.

He was grateful that she worked around him, grateful that she understood how _desperately_ Richie needed to hold Eddie right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, or your predictions and stuff! Your comments mean the world to me and always brighten my day when I see them. 
> 
> Watch out for Ms. Corona, stay inside! Keep yourself and those around you safe! HMU if you want on tumblr! @richiestoeshurt


	3. Maggie and Wentworth Tozier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a familiar chatter of voices then, coming from outside his room, heading towards the door. Eddie gave Richie’s palm one last kiss before setting his hand down on the bed, Richie clasped his hand with his own though, wanting to be done with the bullshit of avoiding the subject of his sexuality with his parents, done with the bullshit of hiding how much Eddie meant to him from them.

Richie lay in bed, not really sleeping, more so relaxing, as Eddie rested with him at his shoulder, with gentle fingers raking softly through his hair above his right ear. It was a gentle, comforting sensation that kind of brought him away from the pounding of his head.

As he lay, he thought about his parents, and about how despite the circumstances, he was looking forward to seeing them. The last time he’s seen them was when he, Bill, and Eddie went back to Derry towards the beginning of their previous semester to help them pack up the house. His father had found a pretty nice dentists’ job in Chicago with an amazing salary that he didn’t want to turn away ten years before retirement. Richie was excited for them. His mother always wanting to get a taste of what living in a big city would be like.

They were good parents, _great_ parents really… always supporting Richie through his phases, allowing him to express himself how he wanted. Even going so far as to buying him his cherished electric guitar. He loved his parents, and was grateful for the support they provided. Supporting him through college, being fortunate enough to pay for all of it with what they saved for him. Richie only has been responsible for making money for his rent, groceries, and whatever else he needed to pay for while living away from home.

He was never really close with his parents… in fact, he never actually _came out_ to them… just kind of acted like they knew and tried not to think about it too much. A part of him feared their disgust, feared that they’ll be upset that he’s the last chance of passing on the Tozier genes and there’s a chance that he won’t. At least that’s what he’s heard in stories of parents getting upset when their son would come out to them.

He was with Eddie now, and there’s really _no way_ they _wont_ figure it out when they got here, because he wasn’t going to let Eddie leave his side for longer than it took to pee. He didn’t tell them when they went to Derry all those months ago, mostly because it didn’t _come up…_ its not like their relationship changed much, they just spoke their mind more often and had sex all the time. His parents didn’t notice… or at least they didn’t ask, so Richie didn’t tell them. Eddie was fine with it, because he’s always been fine with Richie’s nervous quirks that came with his accepting of his sexuality, being so sweet about their first date, and encouraging him to take things at his own pace, showing him that there was nothing to fear.

The new room was nice, and Doctor Carter was right, it _was_ bigger. It was big enough to fit extra chairs on top of the two fold out recliners that Bev and Eddie would sleep on for the next two weeks. The first thing Eddie did when they were put in the new room, was push his recliner up to the edge of Richie’s bed.

They were able to adjust the lighting better in this room as well, which helped immensely with his pounding brain, only emitting light from a dim lamp at his bedside table, and the setting sun through the blinds of the window where Bev, Ben, Bill, Mike, and Stan crowded, chatting in soft voices about how they were going to rearrange the living room to accommodate for Richie’s healing.

Richie was able to eat some of a meal earlier, though he stopped when he started to feel queasy. Nurse Tracy had been the one to deliver it and he learned that she was one of Doctor Carter’s nurses, who had been there during his operation. That was all he really needed to know, to understand that she had been there when he died and that she had been there when his friends were informed. He still had yet to really talk about it with Eddie, and decided that he wanted to wait until it was more intimate, just the three of them later on… Eddie, Bev and him. He wanted to know exactly what happened, no longer leaving up to imagination what they went through.

He also was able to be _mobile_ for a short stretch of time. He was able to get up, and be wheeled to the bathroom to relieve himself after what felt like _ages…_ He made nurse Tracy laugh a bit with his awkward jokes about watching him pee. She was a nice woman… maybe late thirties, and gave him a cool aunt vibe. She probably had kids because she wore a ring on her finger and just seemed like she would make a great mom. She was caring and was slow with him, asking him easy questions about his pain levels and adjusting his medications to accommodate. He felt a little better after that, not so much of a piercing pain across his chest and head, now more of an occasional throb with invasive lighting or wrong movements.

Moving sure as hell _hurt…_ but was nice, it felt good to not be sitting in bed, feeling like a throbbing lump. The biggest issue with moving around, was definitely his leg, a giant cast stuck at a permanent bend, that greatly inhibited his mobility. Eddie had joined them on the short venture, Richie opted to hold onto his shoulder when needed, rather than Nurse Tracy’s. It was an interesting affair to say the least, full of jokes and awkward laughter, because even in his state of pain and the desperate need for help in times like this, he was still the most immature one in the room.

When he got back into bed, Nurse Tracy showed him how to adjust it, raise and lower his feet and head, and instructed how to properly elevate his leg, saying that it should be kept above his heart more often than not. Eddie seemed to be paying far more attention than Richie about it, so by the end of the explanation she seemed to be talking to only him.

Eddie settled back into his chair after she left, kind of sighing and rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, obviously exhausted.

Bev came up behind his chair then. “Hey Eddie, the boys are going to take a walk and get some food, there’s a Wendy’s next door, do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks though…” He wiggled deeper into his chair and pulled his feet up. He had finished Richie’s very _bland_ hamburger and unsalted fries from earlier, and seemed to consider that enough.

“Eddie wants a large fry.” Bev said loudly to Ben, Mike, Bill, and Stan by the window as she walked back over to them.

Eddie smirked a bit and it filled Richie’s heart with so much joy he actually heard the heart monitor connected to his chest speed up, which in turn made Eddie smile more, so Richie smiled too, all crooked and kind of bland for how much it hurt.

“ _I’m so happy you’re okay…_ ” Eddie whispered, reaching for Richie’s hand on the bed, Richie let his thumb drag along the back of it, so soft despite the cold of winter. Eddie was always one to take good care of himself, making a routine of applying Chapstick and hand-cream, showering twice daily, and on some days, _three_. One wouldn’t know that looking at him now though, his hair was a bit greasy, and his face was clammy with exhaustion and general dirtiness. Richie could tell he hasn’t showered, or probably even changed his clothes since coming to the hospital.

Richie projected his best smile, crooked and weak, missing a bit of its brightness, but it was his smile none the less.

“ _Me too…_ ”

Eddie gave his hand a light squeeze, and projected his own version of a weak smile, less pained, but _oh so tired._

“ _Why don’t you try to get some sleep.”_ Richie whispered, trying to encourage his boyfriend to just _recharge_ for a minute, at times he looked as if he would fall over any second, an alarmingly sudden case of Narcolepsy.

Eddie shook his head. “No… I’m not sleeping until you do…”

 _“Fine…”_ Richie said, and dramatically closed his eyes and settled into the pillow beneath his head, acting as if he was about to go to sleep himself, even though he knew he couldn’t with how much pain he was in.

Eddie chuckled a bit behind an exhale and ran the soft pad of his thumb along Richie’s hand, a soothing motion that he knew Richie responded to.

Richie didn’t really fall asleep though, he just wanted to _look_ like he did in hopes that Eddie would try to get some sleep as well. Instead he lay there thinking, thinking about how much he loved his friends. How grateful he was for their support, handling the scare of his surgeries, and going so far as to call his parents and make plans to rearrange the house for his return home. He was so happy to have them, and _extremely happy_ to have Eddie here at his side. He was so fucking grateful that last spring went the way it did, bringing them together officially, loving each other equally and openly.

He heard Bill, Ben, Mike, and Stan leave the room as quietly as they could, whispering at such a level that Richie couldn’t even make out what they were saying. He then heard Bev stand up and walk over to his bed, resting her gentle hand on his un-casted foot. He opened his eyes then and gave her a light smile which she returned. He then looked to his right and saw Eddie fast asleep, curled up as best as he could be in the armchair he sat on.

 _“Isn’t he just so precious?”_ Richie whispered as softly as he could.

Bev smirked and nodded. _“He was so upset Richie.”_

Richie didn’t know what to say… so he just nodded, so slight and minute, one wouldn’t know it was there unless they were looking for it. He _hated_ that Eddie had to go through this, he felt upset about the whole ordeal, upset that Bev and the rest of his friends not only had to mourn him for those moments, but to be there with Eddie, experiencing _his_ grief.

 _“What happened?”_ Richie asked, because he wanted to know… felt like he needed to know.

Though his question was vague, Bev knew what he was referring to.

“Well…” She took a deep breath and sat on his bed next to his foot. Her whisper was light as a feather as she spoke. “We got called at the house a few hours after your accident, pretty much once you were at the hospital… the police found emergency contact information in your car.”

 _“Thanks to Eddie…”_ Richie added, because it was Eddie who wrote up emergency contact information and planted it in his car, hearing about how important it was in hypothetical situations that Richie thought he would never have to live through… but here he was.

“We all rushed here, and when we got here you were already in surgery, they pretty much just got you in… only taking a few x-rays, an MRI and I think a CAT scan before.” She took a break to clear her throat a bit. Looking down at her fiddling hands now… “They put us in a room while you were in there… I think because they thought you wouldn’t… uhm… well with the state of us, they wanted to give us some privacy… which was very thoughtful and I’m grateful that they did that.”

Richie nodded and looked to Eddie, making sure he was still asleep, which he was, lost in a deep, deep sleep, with his mouth parted and his stomach rising and falling evenly with his shallow sleepy breaths.

“Eddie was a fucking wreck Richie…” A ball in her throat pinched her words a little. “He brought his inhaler… and he was using it so much that he ran out of medication. And that was before you even flatlined.” She took a moment to wipe away the tears that were falling silently down her cheeks.

Richie clenched his jaw, trying hard to not cry again… knowing how stuffy it made his already throbbing head hurt.

“When Nurse Tracy came in and told us… Eddie couldn’t breathe, at all… I can’t even find the words to describe how upset he was…” She took a moment to sniffle and wipe away her tears, recounting the event was tough for her, and Richie appreciated that she was doing it anyway. “Doctor carter got you back though…”

Her voice was relieved then nodding along with her words, like they were a comfort.

“He’s a great doctor. I trust him a lot.”

“ _Me too…”_ Richie said weakly. _“Eddie seems to like him too.”_

“Yeah, they had a moment together.” Bev smiled a bit through her tears, fondly at the memory. “They hugged when Doctor Carter came in and said you were doing better. He showed Eddie your injuries and stuff too… like when you were in bed still sleeping. I think he could tell he was really worried. It really helped him calm down a bit.”

Richie smiled along to the news. Doctor Carter jumped to God-tear in his mind, an absolute, all around, great fucking guy.

“It took you a long time to wake up too… I think we waited around six or eight hours. But it wasn’t as bad as waiting for your surgery… or I guess I should say _surgeries…_ they went back and forth, doing x-rays and then going back into surgery. Between your lung and your ribs and your leg…”

“ _Well it’s a good thing I don’t have to pay for it.”_

“Damn right it’s a good fucking thing. Imagine how much this shit would cost… I mean just look at this room, its like a hotel room… a _nice_ hotel room.”

They both kind of admired the room for a second. It was a nice room, with a full bathroom and everything, there’s even _room service_ if that’s what you’d call a nurse bringing up a tray of bland hospital food that Richie had to eat. It was kind of _set up_ like a hotel room, the walls were a tan, contrast to the blinding white they had been in the previous room, each of the side tables were wooden, though they had a few buttons and a very hospital appearing outlet behind the one with Richie’s IV bags and countless cords belonging to monitors stringing to his body, disappearing beneath his blanket. The window had nice curtains and the bathroom had complimentary soaps. It really was like a hotel room, a very medical and treatment orientated hotel room.

“But yeah, so the guy T-boned you… he’s fine apparently… medically that is, but he totaled his _and_ your car. He was driving a tow-truck, so that’s why you got so… _crushed…_ ”

Though Bev was being serious, Richie couldn’t help but chuckle at her phrasing. Bev smiled a bit too, pulling her feet up onto the bed and crossing her legs.

“ _I want to see the video.”_

“No… you don’t. Not yet at least… you haven’t even seen your face yet.”

 _“Holy shit… you’re right…”_ Richie realized… during his whole bathroom adventure earlier, Nurse Tracy had hung a towel over the mirror above the sink, and for some reason, Richie didn’t think much of it.

_“I really want to see now.”_

“Well you’re going to have to wait, I’m not going to get in trouble for showing you.” She said with her hands up.

_“Why would you get in trouble?”_

“I don’t know, they’ve all just been nervous to show you. I mean _I_ know you’ll be fine with seeing what you look like, but they don’t. I just don’t want to overstep or anything.”

 _“Hm…”_ Richie hummed. Damn, he must look like fucking Frankenstein’s Monster…

“Ask the nurse next time you have to take a piss.”

 _“Yeah, I’m going to.”_ Richie had to clear his throat a bit, from whispering so much. Bev leaned and crawled up the bed a bit to hand him his glass of water on his nightstand, moving stealthily as to not wake Eddie.

Richie took the glass and used his limited mobility of his broken arm to sit himself up in bed, pressing the button on the rail to do so. He eyed Eddie as he sat up, nervous about waking him, darting his eyes between him and Bev, who chuckled a bit at him. Eddie made no indication that he was anywhere _near_ on the verge of waking up.

He drank as much of the water as he could, and leaned to put it on the night stand himself, the now familiar jolt of pain in his ribs caused him to flinch a bit at the action, but he was happy to be sitting up more now, taking some of the pressure off of his head.

“How do you feel?” Bev asked him.

 _“Like shit.”_ Richie whispered. _“I feel like my brain is going to explode if I talk any louder.”_

Bev gave him a pained expression. “Fuck that’s got to suck… do you want me to go find you an ice pack or something?”

 _“No… I’m okay for now… this is the best it’s felt so far…”_ And that was the truth.

Bev nodded.

“You okay if I go take a quick shower?”

Richie laughed behind his breath and nodded, amused that she was asking him.

She bent over and kissed his knee through the blanket before quietly hopping off of his bed onto her socked feet and retrieving her bag from the corner of the room before disappearing into the bathroom. That was something he’s always loved about Bev, she was so quick to show affection, and always _meant_ it when she did. She’s had plenty of friends outside of their rag-tag group of losers, and she never once kissed or even _hugged_ some of them. It made Richie feel special to be one of the six people she so readily touched and loved.

He wouldn’t trade his family for the world.

* * *

In the time it took for Bev to shower, the boys returned with the food, tiptoeing into the room, struck by the silence and wanting to keep it that way. Richie smirked and gave them a bit of a wave, holding his finger in front of his lips and motioning to Eddie, indicating that he was asleep. They all got the memo, giving silent thumbs up and curt nods, they were all so dorky and weird that it made Richie chuckle a bit. They silently offered some food to Richie and he declined, feeling far too queasy to even consider eating so much as a French fry.

When Bev was finished her shower, she joined them in eating, picking out what seemed to be Eddie’s French fries out of the bag and in a dramatically silent fashion, setting them down on the table next to his sleeping form. Richie couldn’t help but laugh at the way she moved, so desperately needing to laugh after the daunting day he’s had, happy to see her being so goofy, setting the fries on the table as if she was Indiana Jones, throwing a spin move in there somewhere. His laugh wasn’t his belly laugh it usually was though, because of how much his chest hurt to do seemingly _anything_ , his laugh was somewhere in his throat, and sounded a bit strangled and high pitched.

Bev gleamed at him from behind Eddie’s chair, over her shoulder as she walked back to the window to eat her meal. Eddie was jolted awake by the sound of his laughter, obviously worried that something was wrong. Relief came over his expression to find the genuine smile on Richie’s face, he did a bit of a chuckle himself and sat up in his chair.

“How long was I asleep?” Eddie asked.

“Long enough for Bev to take a shower and for the boys to get your fries.” Richie said, _barely_ using his full voice.

Richie motioned to the container of french-fries on the table. Eddie smirked and leaned around the back of his chair as he reached for the food. “Thanks guys.”

They all kind of referenced his thanks in their own ways, the highlight being Bill’s dorky thumbs up.

“You don’t have to talk you know… I know it hurts.” Eddie said, picking at his fries.

 _“Everything hurts… and I want to talk.”_ Richie said, back to his more whispered tone. _“Also,_ you _asked me a question.”_

Richie laughed his breathy, exhausted laughter and Eddie laughed his honest quiet chuckle.

“You’re right.”

They all ate, and Richie went from sitting with his eyes closed to gazing at Eddie, it was a good mix of rest and rejuvenation. Resting his eyes and giving them a much needed break from straining to look at things and adjust to light. Then, looking at his favorite face in the entire world made his heart radiate waves of electric love through every fiber of his being, so much so… that when he did close his eyes, he imagined his fingertips to be pink from how strong his love was. A love so strong it fought at the tips of his appendages to burst through and flood the room in its magenta glow.

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asked, who had finished his food and was sitting, looking back at Richie now.

 _“Just about how much I love ya Eds.”_ It was an honest answer.

Eddie smiled at him then, so much that his teeth kind of peeked through his lips, it was the most he’s smiled all day. Richie felt that pinkness at his fingertips all over again, dying to get out… with some consideration he decided that instead… his fingers simply wanted to _touch_ him.

He reached his good arm out, not to his hand, but his face, dying to cup the cheek that was red and raw from an overwhelming burden of emotion stemming from momentary grief and disbelief. Richie felt him lean into his hand a bit. Richie loved the way his hair tickled the tips of his fingertips, and how his cheek was warm beneath his hand. He let his thumb drag lightly against the corner of his mouth, he wanted to kiss him… _badly_ but he wasn’t sure if Eddie was up for it… so he didn’t. He just let his thumb explore the face he almost lost forever.

 _“Hey Eds…”_ Richie said, thumb traveling now to the spot on his cheek where his dimple peaked through when he smiled. _“I’m sorry I died…”_

It was a phrase he never thought he heard himself say, and it was kind of crazy, and unbelievable, so he smirked along to it as a coping mechanism, smile carrying through his whisper, delivering the line as more of a joke. Eddie knew it wasn’t a joke though, because he shook his head and brought his gentle fingers to the back of Richie’s hand on his face, holding it as he turned to press his lips into his palm.

There was a familiar chatter of voices then, coming from outside his room, heading towards the door. Eddie gave Richie’s palm one last kiss before setting his hand down on the bed, Richie clasped his hand with his own though, wanting to be done with the bullshit of avoiding the subject of his sexuality with his parents, done with the bullshit of hiding how much Eddie meant to him from them.

The door clicked open, and in came his parents, escorted by Doctor Carter. He carried the same blue folder and clipboard from that morning, when he gave Richie the whole rundown of the state of his meat sack. Preparing to do the same for his parents.

“Oh my…” Maggie Tozier said, hand covering her mouth in shock at the state of Richie there on the bed.

It was obvious they’ve both been a mess, Wentworth Tozier, usually dressed pretty dapper and put together, wore jeans and an _extremely_ old ACDC shirt that Richie remembered seeing him wear when he was a kid, late at night when they stayed up for a movie, and early in the mornings when he woke him up for school. Maggie was the same story, her hair was an unkept, frizzy black curls pulled back into a loose low ponytail, attire an unmatched track suit.

 _“I’m alive!”_ Richie said, in a bit of a stage whisper, with a comedic flair, stretching his arms out to either side of his body, holding his and Eddie’s clasped hands out as well as his casted arm, because he was getting the hang of moving it now.

“Is there a moment in life when we could expect you _not_ to crack a joke?” Went said, amused through his teary expression, coming around the bed to stand next to Eddie’s chair, Richie unclasped their hands only to reach one out to his father. Who took it with both of his own, kind of holding it and giving it a light shake, as if he had been dying to have _some_ form of contact with his son. As if he’d been waiting to just _hold him…_ go back to the feeling of what it was like holding him when he was so little, and so much less talkative, so vulnerable in his arms and quite literally his little bundle of joy.

Went gave Richie this, tight smile through his teary expression and Richie returned the smile as best he could, happy to see his parents and to feel his father’s comforting hands around his own.

“Oh _honey…”_ Maggie said, moving to stand on the other side of Eddie’s chair, who stood then, as if offering his chair to her. “No, no Eddie, honey sit back down.”

Eddie didn’t argue with that like he may have if he was fully rested and in a good mental state, he just nodded behind a weak smile and sat back down.

Maggie crouched over Richie’s face, pushing his hair behind his right ear. “Sweetheart… I’m so happy you’re okay.”

 _“So am I.”_ Richie agreed.

She gave a teary chuckle as her eyes wandered across his features, beautiful deep blue eyes, bright smile, and his full lips all there the same. Now only blemished by the occasional scratch and the daunting gash on the left side of his head.

“They’re taking great care of you here…” She said nodding, talking more so to herself than to him, but Richie nodded anyway, reassuring her.

“So, we’re staying in that hotel across the street… so we’ll be around for as long as you need us.” Went said, still holding Richie’s hand.

 _“Thanks for coming up guys… I know it’s a hassle to get here.”_ Richie whispered. _“I hear the roads are pretty dangerous these days.”_

“Richie oh my _God!”_ Eddie said then.

They all kind of laughed a bit though, each of them happy to see that Richie was still the same, jokey guy, who can never really be entirely serious in any given situation. The rest of the Losers even cackled where they were by the window.

Maggie smiled at him and kissed his right temple before disappearing behind Eddie’s chair to go and greet everyone. Went, gave his hand one last shake before doing the same, giving Eddie’s hair a light ruffle with his hand before joining his wife in greeting the friends that his son found _oh so long ago_ , and clung to like a lifeline.

Richie reached for Eddie’s hand then, holding it around his fingers and bringing it slowly up to his lips, soft and sweet, letting them linger, a gentle but firm press of his lips against the soft skin of Eddie’s hand. Eddie smiled at the action, his sleepy closed mouth smile, that blushed the apples of his cheeks and put that faint, but familiar glint in his eye. Richie then brought Eddie’s hand down to settle somewhere on his chest that didn’t hurt.

Maggie and Went returned to his bedside then, Maggie pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head as she sat on the arm of his chair, Went positioned his hands in a _Dad-like-fashion_ on the back of the armchair. Each of them drew their attention to Doctor Carter who, up until then was sorting out Richie’s papers and readying the machine he had rolled in to present the X-Rays on.

Doctor Carter ran through Richie’s injuries with them, similar to this morning, but only now with far more questions and a lot less tears, because they already kind of knew about them. Bill having filled them in at some point, because they were his parents, and sooner was better than later. It also didn’t take as long for Doctor Carter to run through them, the longest part being the presentation of his X-Rays, Wentworth going around the bed to get a closer look with his reading glasses, nodding his head and squinting at the hair line fractures that Doctor Carter pointed out.

Doctor Carter left the room with a firm handshake from Went and instruction that a nurse will be in soon to de-tach Richie from most of the monitors at his bedside.

“He’s a good guy. I like him.” Went said as he came back around the bed, sitting by Richie’s unbroken knee.

“Yes, I agree.” Maggie said.

“So, from the sound of it, your guitar skills are probably going to come in handy, yeah? Playing has got to be some good physical therapy for that arm.” Went said.

Richie sighed a bit. _“Yeah I guess so…”_

He was still pissed off at how unfair the whole thing was. Doubting that he’ll ever be able to play at the level he had been just before the accident.

“Tell ya what… once you get that cast off… I’ll come on back up here and we’ll go buy you that bass guitar you’ve been wanting.” His voice was cheerful and sweet, like he was giddy off the adrenaline of his son purely being _alive._

Richie snorted and gave a bit of a smile. _“I guess playing bass would be easier… at first anyway.”_

Richie gazed up at the ceiling and strummed his thumb against the tendons of the back of Eddie’s hand on his chest, imagining it was the strings of a guitar, imagining the sound it would make in his head. A soft chime of tuned strings, echoing throughout the body of his acoustic, soft vibration of sound filling the dry tone of the hospital room.

“Yeah, I think it would be…” Went positioned his arms as if holding a bass guitar, doing the motions of jabbing at the strings with his hands, in such an extreme fashion Richie could only imagine the horrid, choppy sound that would result from playing any sort of guitar that way.

Richie laughed and shook his head as best he could, happy to have the goofy energy of his father around. He remembered times growing up when his dad would be so goofy, that he would be trapped in an endless loop of laughter, amused immensely by whatever comedic act his father was putting on for him. More often than not, Eddie and a mix of the others would be there too, Went putting on a show for his friends, sometimes walking into the living room with a smudge of pancake batter on his beard, deliberately planted there to make the group of kids squatting in his house get a kick out of it. His dad was great like that…

Eddie laughed softly at Went and leaned forward into his bent arm on Richie’s bed, resting his head there. Maggie’s hand found his back and she offered Richie a kind smile, she comforted him lovingly, rubbing circles into his back.

“ _Oh yeah… and I should probably tell you guys that I’m… uh…”_ Richie cleared his throat as effectively as he could, strained from whispering, but the sensation was preferred to the sensation he got in his brain from talking normally. _“That I’m… bisexual.”_

The word was drawn out and he said it slow… eyes darting between each of his parents.

“Well… I’ll be honest with ya son, I am not at all sure _what_ that means, but you’ve got our support.” Went said nodding, resting a gentle hand on Richie’s unbroken leg.

Maggie chuckled a bit and nodded her head, her eyes seemed to wet with another round of tears, but her face was smiling brightly.

 _“It means I’m attracted to men_ and _women… but right now I just like Eddie.”_

Eddie sat up then, looking first to Maggie then to Went, letting his hand drift off of Richie’s chest as he did so. Richie joined him in looking at each of his parents, trying to gage their reactions.

Each of them projected their own version of a bright smile. Maggie’s hand found the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him close into a warm hug, that Richie knew probably felt amazing. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head and ignored the way her tears fell.

“I’m proud of you, kid.” Went said after a long pause, squeezing Richie’s leg a bit. He gave Richie a wobbly smirk and nodded his head. Richie could tell by his voice that he was holding back a lot of emotion. “You too Kaspbrak.” His hand found the back of Eddie’s shoulder, giving it a light pat. “I knew there had to be something more there… putting up with our crazy son all these years.” He joked his way through the tightness in his throat.

Eddie gave a nod and a chuckle, even _he_ was all emotional again, crying softly in the arms of Richie’s mother.

Maggie gave Eddie one last squeeze before releasing him, leaving a hand at his back and bending down to press a kiss to Richie’s cheek. “You two were always so sweet with each other…” She said as she settled back into her seat. “When did you figure it out?”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond but Richie beat him to it.

_“Sonia’s birthday.”_

Wentworth snorted into a laugh, and Richie did too, though his was more silent, and hurt his chest a bit. He grinned through the pain and felt tears, hot in his eyes, from the whole… coming out… combined with the pain and the pure _joy_ he felt then. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous to come out to them, hell… they _loved_ Eddie. Even if they hated the fact that he liked boys they would be all ‘ _well at least its Eddie he’s with…’_

At least that was Richie’s deepest, _darkest_ fear… one that he realized could never be true. His parents were the kind of people that went to festivals growing up… the outdoor ones in the spring and summer. Went had his hair long and Maggie wore those long flowy shirts with flowers embroidered at the hems. They smoked pot and hated the war. Then, Went became a dentist… and Maggie became an artist, kind of _abandoning_ the dream when she had Richie… then picking it up again when he was older. They lived a good life together, and they were in _love…_

They taught Richie what love was, so he knew what he was looking for, and _oh man…_ had he found it with Eddie. The mutual respect, the helping each other, the caring, the honesty, the crave for each other’s attention, the fucking _tenderness…_ it was all there.

“February last year.” Eddie clarified.

“Wow… its been a while then.” Maggie said, a bit surprised.

 _“Greatest almost year of my life…”_ Richie said, dreamily gazing up at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter took awhile! Classes just started back again for me so I've been juggling a few projects and papers that I've responsibly saved for last minute to do.   
> As always, let me know your thoughts in the comments and feel free to hit me up on tumblr @richiestoeshurt !!!


	4. Zombie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His left eye was bruised, purple fading to green around his cheekbone and brow, as if he was smacked in the face with a textbook. Scratches and cuts were grazed about his face, mostly on the left side, a few of them seemed pretty deep and gnarly looking, he knew they’d heal to thick scars, the two that stood out were one on his forehead and one just below his cheekbone, pretty scabbed over, dark red creases on his porcelain complexion with a yellowish aura as if the whole half of his face was one fading bruise, accented by purple veins about his temple, forehead and eye socket. He looked like a zombie, a walking dead person, he knew what Eddie meant now… ‘It’s just a little scary at first…’

The first night in the hospital, was a mess. Well… technically the _second_ night in the hospital… but it was Richie’s first night he was _actually aware of._

His usual fidgety self didn’t have anyone to talk to, to _distract_ him from being fidgety and anxious. He was in and out of sleep, waking up at the littlest beep or flash of light from outside the door. His sleep was shallow, he felt he was barely sleeping, too focused on the pounding of his head and the way his ribs and knee hurt from laying in a position for too long.

He was usually the type to sleep on his side or stomach, sleeping on your back just felt _vulnerable…_ and how was anyone going to expect him to sleep in the same position that he spent his whole day in. He was exhausted… sure, but it was the kind of exhausted you felt when you got _too much_ sleep. It made sleep seem frustrating and pointless, like he was bored of sleeping. _That_ combined with how much fucking _pain_ he was in; sleep was _barely_ an option.

He tossed and turned as much as his body would allow through the night, pressing his call button once, for a nurse to come in and help him to the bathroom, mostly for something to fucking _do._ It was a silent affair, and he spent most of it looking over his shoulder as the nurse helped him in and out of bed, making sure he wasn’t waking Eddie or Bev. The towel that nurse Tracey put over the mirror yesterday was still there… as if she and everyone who has used the bathroom decided that Richie wasn’t ready to see his face yet, or at least ready to casually glance at it in the middle of the night as a nurse he didn’t know helped him take a leak. A weird, sitting on the toilet with a broken leg kind of leak.

Bev and Eddie slept like angels. Soft snores and Bev’s faint sleep talking filled the room comfortably. She’s done that for as long as Richie could remember… the sleep talking, they used to all crowd around her during sleepovers to giggle at what she would say. It was usually something goofy that didn’t make sense, but once or twice it had been the creepiest, most ominous thing anyone’s ever said _‘…she’s behind you… where are her eyes…’_

Richie remembered how terrified they all became that night. Eddie almost fainted and yelped so hard he had to reach for his inhaler. They all slept together in a pile with the lamp on after that. Richie smiled fondly then, staring at the popcorn ceiling of his hospital room. Eventually drifting off into another round light sleep, to the sounds of Eddie’s soft breaths and Bev’s light snore. Thinking about how much he loved them.

* * *

“Listen, I really think you two can help be out! I’m sick of peeing in front of nurses I don’t know, I feel like you guys are missing out.” He was finally able to actually _talk_ again, though it was softer and less emphasized than his normal cadence.

“Richie what if you fall! I don’t know how we’ll pick you up with those casts, and what if you fall so hard you break your ribs again, or rip your head open!?” Eddie rambled anxiously.

“Come on… I want to look at my head with you guys…” Richie whined.

“I’m not helping unless Eddie is involved.” Bev said with her hands raised, hair pulled back as she wore fluffy pink pajama shorts and Ben’s hoodie that he gave to her earlier that day, she was all cozied up and ready for bed.

Eddie was the same story, he was freshly showered and was wearing a pair of looser fitting pajama pants, and one of Richie’s cozier tee shirts. A graphic of a Keith Haring illustration on the front. He looked so fucking adorable, the only thing Richie wanted more than to take a piss with them and look at his face, was to pull him close and smother him in kisses.

“Come on… I just want to piss with you guys…” Richie said, as if his heart was broken.

“I thought you wanted to look at your head with us.” Eddie said teasing.

“That too… but mostly the piss part.” Richie teased back, because they all knew it was the other way around. They all knew that a part of Richie was _afraid_ to see his face, worried about how scary he’d look, and wanting to experience the sight for the first time with two people he loved dearly, and not a nurse who would pity him for crying or gasping.

“Doctor Carter _did_ say it was okay…” Bev pointed out.

Eddie took a deep breath and visibly considered for a moment, clenching his jaw and staring past Richie’s bed to the wheelchair by the wall.

“Okay… but one wrong move and we’re never doing it alone again.”

“Got it.”

Bev hopped off of Richie’s bed and Eddie stood up as well, rubbing his palms on his thighs like he was anxious about the whole thing.

“Hey, if you’re nervous we don’t have to do it. I can beep for a nurse if you want.” Richie offered.

“No, it’s okay, I want to be there when you see your face.” Eddie folded Richie’s blanket away from his body.

“Damn I must be one ugly duckling.”

“ _No!_ No… not at all. It’s just a little scary at first.” Richie picked up on the sincerity in Eddie’s voice, he knew he was telling the truth, and though Richie was mostly joking, a part of him was serious. He was afraid that what Eddie once found attractive was now repulsive, I mean… he hasn’t kissed him since before the accident. There were kisses, sure, but they weren’t _kisses…_ on the lips, they were on his hand or shoulder or something. Richie missed those damned lips.

“I’ll be the judge of that one.” Richie said, sitting up as best he could, relying heavily on his good arm.

Bev wheeled the wheelchair around to where Richie swung his good leg over the bed, using a combined effort of a lean and a nudge from his good arm to maneuver his casted leg over the bed with it.

“We can’t forget my bag of juice.” Richie said, referencing his IV bags that Eddie gave a weird look.

“Don’t call it that.” Eddie said, sounding a bit repulsed.

“What should I call it then, water? Because its not water. How about my cocktail?”

“How about we just call it IV fluids.” Eddie said. Holding a hand out for Richie to take.

“No can do Eddie my love, I don’t even know what IV stands for…” His logic was all wrong and weird, he was really just trying desperately to pull a laugh from Eddie, as always.

Bev snorted from her spot behind the wheelchair, locking the wheels and going over to Richie’s IV stand and rolling it closer to them.

“Okay… just, like… use me however you need to…” Eddie said, planting his feet firmly and holding out his outstretched hands.

“Oh _God I wish…_ ” Richie joked, because though he was broken and frail, and dizzy most of the time, he was still such a horny bastard for Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Shut up.” Eddie scoffed, and there it was, the little chuckle behind his laugh and the blush that rose on his cheeks.

“You set yourself up for that one.” Richie said as he grabbed Eddie around the wrist, a firm grasp that he knew he needed to take to heave himself up.

Eddie shifted so Richie could swing his casted arm around his neck, which was a lot easier to do with Eddie than it was with a nurse. He trusted Eddie more than anyone, and felt simply more _comfortable_ maneuvering his body around like this with him. Being so physical and intimate for most of their lives together. He wasn’t afraid of throwing his weight around with Eddie because he knew he could handle it, and _trusted_ him to.

“I forgot what it’s like to stand next to you.” Richie smirked.

“Me too.” Eddie flashed him a bit of a smile and positioned firm but gentle hands on Richie’s hips to help in maneuvering him into sitting on the wheelchair.

Richie sat with a dramatic sigh, mostly to prove that the whole thing had started off with an easier than expected start, but also to combat the dizziness he felt from it too.

“Onward!” Richie cheered and held a balled fist in the air. It sent a searing throb of pain across his brain that was already freaking out from moving so much and so fast, but he didn’t care, he was finally _doing_ something after sitting around for hours on end, and he was excited about it.

He heard Eddie suck his teeth behind him, and just _knew_ he rolled his eyes, he might have even smiled, and it made Richie smirk a bit just thinking about it. Collectively, Bev and Eddie rolled Richie and his juice bags into the bathroom, and it was mostly Eddie who helped Richie into sitting on the toilet, and mostly Richie who pulled up the skirt of his hospital gown as he pissed, tugging it up to somewhere around his stomach.

“Eds, pee in between my legs, it’ll be fun.” Richie giggled, and Bev did too.

“Eww! Richie no!” Eddie said, stepping back away from him a bit, face all scrunched up in adorable disgust.

“Next time.” Richie said nodding, looking to Bev for an agreement which she didn’t give, just continued laughing and shaking her head.

“And do you have _any_ modesty?” Eddie said, commenting on the way Richie sat there, all exposed with his gown pulled up.

“What? You’ve seen me naked.” Richie said confused.

“Yeah but Bev hasn’t.”

“She probably has.”

“I have not actually.” Bev still found the whole thing amusing. “But it all makes sense now.”

“What?” Richie and Eddie both said simultaneously.

“Why Eddie is _so fucking loud!”_ She said through her uncontrollable giggles.

Richie laughed with her and offered his good hand for a high five, which she took gladly. Eddie just covered his face with his hands, and groaned, Richie caught the way he blushed through his fingertips.

“See this is _fun!”_ Richie said then. “Aren’t you guys happy we can all spend this kind of quality time together?”

“Yes, this is thrilling.” Eddie said deadpan and unamused, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

“I’m having a good time.” Bev said, leaning against the door frame.

Richie laughed and Eddie scoffed and shook his head, offering his hands again to help Richie up. As Richie pulled himself into standing, he flushed the toilet somewhere along the way, and slung his casted arm around Eddies neck, using him as a crutch as Eddie maneuvered them over to the sink, which was only maybe _two_ normal steps away.

Eddie then washed Richie’s good hand, warm water and the gentle touch of his hands swiping against his own, shiny bubbles glistening on the backs of Eddie’s tanned skin, a contrast to his own, pale and dry with the effects of being hospitalized. Eddie gently dried their hands together, when he was finished, he placed his gentle hand at the small of his back.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eddie asked, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Yes I am.”

“I mean like… do you think you’ll pass out or anything? Do you feel dizzy right now?”

Richie couldn’t answer the question honestly, so he avoided it all together. “I just want to see.”

Eddie sighed, and Richie felt the rise and fall of his shoulders beneath his arm, Eddie turned his head and pressed a kiss to Richie’s shoulder, tender and soft, all kinds of sweet and loving.

Richie couldn’t take it anymore, so just as Bev came more into the room he reached his good hand forward, tugging the towel off of the mirror once and for all. Finally seeing for himself the state of his face, what his family has been looking at these last couple of days, what they’ve been talking to, _staring at_ for as long as he was asleep after surgery.

His left eye was bruised, purple fading to green around his cheekbone and brow, as if he was smacked in the face with a textbook. Scratches and cuts were grazed about his face, mostly on the left side, a few of them seemed pretty deep and gnarly looking, he knew they’d heal to thick scars, the two that stood out were one on his forehead and one just below his cheekbone, pretty scabbed over, dark red creases on his porcelain complexion with a yellowish aura as if the whole half of his face was one fading bruise, accented by purple veins about his temple, forehead and eye socket. He looked like a zombie, a walking dead person, he knew what Eddie meant now… _‘It’s just a little scary at first…’_

The gash on the side of his head was a whole other story. Where there wasn’t thick scabs of dark red blood, there were shiny metal staples… medical staples, about every three quarters of an inch along the cut, literally _holding him together._ It started at his temple, and went back so far he had to turn his head to look at it, he saw it so clearly because they’ve shaved his head there. His hair was gone, only a stubble of his jet black hair left behind, his paper white scalp stood out beneath the short prickling of hair. A rectangle around the gash, it was barely one of those edgy side shaves, it looked _dumb…_ they left his fucking side-burn behind.

He looked at himself for a while, Richie, opened mouth, wide-eyed turning his head every which way to really get a good look. Eddie with his comforting hand, using the tips of his fingers to motion light circles around his back, to keep him there, rooted in reality with them and not drift off into some dizzy dream land that would end with him collapsing on the floor. Richie loved him for it, because it helped, having something physical to focus on, something there as a reminder that Eddie still was there, he was still there loving him.

Eventually, Richie grew somewhat _used_ to the look, knowing that everything… _with time_ will fade… and for now he was just in a semi-permanent Zombie costume. A zombie costume with a terribly done side shave.

He snorted as much as his brain and chest would allow, and twirled his good finger through the long clump of hair that was his side burn.

“I’ve been wanting to cut that off since we saw you after surgery.” Bev said.

“And you should.” Richie agreed, weirded out now with the sight of his old glasses on his face.

“You’re okay?” Eddie asked, shifting his hand to grip Richie around the waist now, firm fingers at his side, thumb swiping back and forth along the weird fabric of Richie’s hospital gown.

“Well… no…” Richie chuckled and referenced to his reflection in the mirror, a literal mess of bruises and cuts. “But, yeah… I’m okay.” Richie hooked his elbow more firmly around Eddie’s neck, causing him to press his cheek more into his shoulder.

Eddie smirked up at him, and Richie watched it in the mirror, he looked so enamored then, like the photo taken so long ago that Richie remembered now. On their camping trip over the summer, Richie falling dramatically into the soft, bright green grass to gaze up at the setting sun, pulling Eddie down as well, falling to a straddle on Richie’s hips, saying something about not wanting to get bugs in his hair, gazing down at Richie _so fucking pretty._ He could picture it now, his beautiful gleaming face, haloed by the painting of a sky behind his head, gorgeous pinks, oranges, and yellows. Bill took the photo then, of Eddie with this… look, and they cherished it together. Pinned now on the wall in their shared basement of a bedroom, just above Richie’s nightstand.

He gave Eddie the ring that night. A ring that carried a promise he almost broke, a promise of _one day, Eds… one day we’ll be married._

His near death experience pushed at something in his head that made him want to keep the promise more, realizing that staying alive had been a part of the deal.

Eddie still had that look on his face, even though he was on Richie’s _‘bad side’_ all loving eyes and soft turn up of his mouth. Richie couldn’t help but smile at the look of them in the mirror. Though they were all broken, sleep deprived, and tear stained, they were still in love. Nothing could break that bond they shared, so firm and definite. Richie could learn that his whole life is a lie, and he’d _still_ believe that Eddie loved him, by that look alone.

“Hey Eds.”

“Hm?” Eddie said, head falling more to Richie’s shoulder then.

“I know it’ll be awkward and _leany_ … but can I have a hug?” Richie felt weird for asking, so used to just tugging each other close and absorbing every ounce of love that radiated between them in a warm embrace.

Eddie smiled again and nodded sweetly, releasing a bit of a breathy chuckle, all kinds of adorable.

Richie shifted his lean on the counter, so the side of his hip pressed into it, and wrapped his good arm around Eddie’s back, Eddie ducked his head into the crease of Richie’s neck on his good side. Richie felt his gentle arms snake around his waist and rest his palms flat against his back.

Richie’s good hand found the fluffy, soft hair at the back of Eddie’s head, and let his casted arm loop around his shoulders. He pressed his cheek against Eddie’s head and let his eyes flutter closed, holding Eddie close like this was what his body has craved. To have Eddie hold him back was perfect, though he held him gently, his touch was still there, and it was thrilling. The sensation of his gentle touch shifting around on his back, back and forth motions of his arms. Richie couldn’t hold back the content sigh he released in that moment, happy with his ability to hold Eddie.

Eddie shifted his head and pressed a sweet kiss to the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, Richie smiled and scratched his fingers at the back of Eddie’s scalp, acknowledging the kiss and loving how tender the moment was. Richie loved being engulfed in the scent of his hair, eucalyptus was the fragrance that came to mind, calming and so entirely linked to his Eddie, his love.

Usually Richie would have involved a light rock by now, swaying their bodies together to a rhythm in his heart but he couldn’t do that physically now, so he just focused on the hold he had on him now, thumbing against the hairline behind his ear and loving the way Eddie’s hands crept to his upper back.

_“I’m sorry for dying…”_ Richie said then… an apology he’s been meaning to make, something he’s been wanting to say to Eddie since he learned about his bouts of momentary departure.

Eddie sniffled a bit, and Richie realized now that he had been crying, the warm press of his cheek against his neck was slippery with tears. He let his hand focus more on his hold at the back of his neck, and ignored the way his ribs yelled at him for looping his casted arm tighter around his back.

_“Its okay Eds…”_ Richie whispered against his hair, so soft that he figured Bev couldn’t hear, who was standing in the door frame behind him. Eddie’s body shook a bit in his arms, whether it was his hitching breaths, or his sobs Richie couldn’t really tell, because besides the occasional sniffle, his crying was silent.

_“I love you so much sweetheart…”_ Richie whispered, pressing his lips into his hair.

Richie’s urge to cry was overpowered by his urge to comfort Eddie, having a visual to link his understanding of Eddie’s distress too. He _looked dead_ … his complexion was clammy and paler than usual, his eyes had permanent bags, his face was veiny and bruised yellow and green where it wasn’t purple, and the gash on the side of his head topped the whole thing off. Eddie was just… scared… and sad and all around distressed. Richie thought about how the thought of never being able to hug like this again may have crossed Eddie’s mind at some point, the thought of simply _losing_ Richie forever had been a very real possibility for a moment.

_“You’re never driving again…”_ Eddie said then, in his wobbly voice.

Richie laughed softly as if agreeing, and dipped his head down a little further to kiss Eddie somewhere behind his ear.

He loved being here, hugging Eddie, melting into his touch and becoming engulfed in his scent, the scent of home, contrast to the sterile hospital smell his nose has adjusted too. He closed his eyes and focused on Eddie’s touch rather than the discomfort of his leg and arm in this position, he imagined they were back at home, in their kitchen perhaps. With natural light from outside flooding in through the window above the sink, maybe it was summer outside, and the sunset was warm and golden.

The hug was everything he needed, and everything that _Eddie_ needed, who merely sniffled now, and nosed occasionally at his neck, and pressed a kiss there every once in a while, Richie wanted to kiss him, badly… but he didn’t want to overstep, he felt weird about kissing Eddie while he looked and felt the way he did, at least not right now… the bending over alone would be searing pain through his chest. But _God_ did he want those velvet lips on his own, feeling the warmth of his soft breath on his cheek, feeling the remanence of his cherry Chapstick moisturize his own lips as he pulled away.

Eddie pressed one more kiss against Richie’s collarbone before shifting out of the hug, still supporting Richie’s weight as he stood. “You should probably lay back down.”

Richie nodded, because he was right, where his hip was leaned against the counter top for all that time felt sore and his knee was beginning to throb from being upright combined with the occasional use of it. Eddie helped him into the wheelchair and wheeled him out of the bathroom, and to his bedside. Bev followed close behind, pushing his IV stand back to its original spot behind his bed. None of them mentioned how emotionally charged that whole moment was. Nobody mentioned Eddie’s tears, or the way Bev swiped away her own as she walked with Richie’s IV stand.

Eddie stepped in front of the wheelchair and Bev went behind, holding it steady as Eddie helped Richie out of it, maneuvering him to sitting on the edge of the bed, scurrying around it to help him position the triangular foam pillow to properly support his leg beneath it.

“Okay… is this comfortable?” Eddie asked, sweet chocolate brown eyes searching for reassurance.

“Here let me scooch this way…” Richie said, looking to inch closer towards the edge of the bed, not really mentioning his intention being to make room for Eddie next to him, on his good side.

Eddie helped him scooch over, and when Richie was settled, he draped a blanket over him, it was cozy, sure… but he knew what would be better. When Eddie walked back around the bed, intention to sit down at his chair, Richie grabbed his wrist.

“What?” Eddie questioned.

Richie let go of his wrist and opened his blanket. “Lay with me?”

Eddie smirked at him, the soft kind of smirk that was filled with love, the kind of smirk that twinkled his eyes, and appled his cheeks, pulling his plump lips taught and shiny in the low light of the room. Richie’s thumb traced against his wrist a bit, feeling the bone of his wrist beneath his thumb.

“What if I hurt you?” Eddie asked.

“You won’t.”

Eddie’s smirk went a bit softer as his eyes trailed across Richie’s body, as if looking for a space suitable for him to slot into. His eyes followed all the way down to his thigh and then snapped back up to connect their gazes.

“Okay.”

Richie felt his heart flutter, Eddie turned to his own chair, only to grab his pillow and set it somewhere next to Richie’s chest. He felt his face beam with excitement, and Eddie must have noticed because he leant to press a sweet kiss to his cheek then. Richie’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, the soft press of his lips against his skin, so sensitive and achy with the after affects of his hospitalization. To be treated so gentle by the one he loved so dear brought that warmth to his heart.

Eddie brushed Richie’s hair away from his forehead then, before slotting into bed with him. Cat-like was the way Richie would describe the way he crawled into bed, all kinds of gentle and slow, Richie felt that if he was asleep he would never know he crawled into bed, that was until Eddie draped his arm across his hips, and nuzzled his face against his side. Richie strained his neck to look down at him, his eyes were closed as he nosed against a spot on his side, on a normal day it would tickle, if his body was in tip top shape and his skin didn’t feel like one big bruise, but now it just felt… kind. Eddie holding him so comfortingly around his waist, so softly, but still so… there.

His thumb swiped back and forth against Richie’s hip bone and Richie felt a warmth in his stomach, that he recognized as love. He let his hand fall to Eddie’s hair, brushing it through his fingers in no particular order, just loving the feeling of his soft clean, familiar wave of hair.

Though it wasn’t that late… maybe nine o’clock, they were all pretty tired, having to wake up early for Richie’s scheduled meals, having a long day of visitations and MRI scans. Bev flicked off the lamp next to Richie’s bed, taking his glasses off for him and pressing a kiss to his forehead, like the sweetheart she was.

“Goodnight Bev.”

Her response was a graze of her fingers at the back of his hand in Eddie’s hair and a flash of her kind-hearted smile. Richie smiled back, now warmer and less focused on discomfort, because now he was overwhelmed with content at the feeling of Eddie snuggled up against his side, holding him so sweetly.

Richie wasn’t sure if Eddie would stay there all night, and he wouldn’t blame him if he woke up to find Eddie in his cot off to the side, but damn was he happy to feel his warmth. His occasional nuzzle or kiss and the way his fingers brushed against him. Richie’s fingers brushed through his hair to a tune in his head, a song that’s been stuck on his heart since Eddie embraced him in the bathroom. The first time he’s gotten a song in his head since before the accident.

_‘The first time ever I saw your face_ _  
I thought the sun rose in your eyes  
The moon and the stars were the gifts you gave  
To the dark and empty skies, my love  
To the dark and empty skies…’_

Roberta Flack’s voice was soft, but so powerful in his mind. He never really sought out to listen to her, but he remembered times growing up, his mother cooking in the kitchen, or working in her painting studio, along to her vocals, having been a favorite of hers. Richie remembered how he would sit in the living room, or at the kitchen counter, just listening, and thinking about how sweet the lyrics were, how much meaning they had about things he didn’t yet understand.

Her genre of music wasn’t one Richie usually sought out, or thought about often, but their love in this moment was different to the love he’d grown used to. It was softer, gentler, quieter, though it was still just as strong, if not more so.

He thought about how if he were at home, with the tape he made so long ago, the mixtape of their love, he would make revisions, or additions. Slowing it down with the vocals of Roberta Flack. He thought about how if he were at home he would strum the soft tune on his acoustic, and melt at the look that Eddie gave him as he played. How he would sing along, because Eddie wanted him to.

Then he though about how all of that would have to wait, but instead of dwelling on the fact that he can’t play his guitar, or even walk down the stairs to their basement to his equipment to make such revisions to the tape, he went back to focusing on the one that brought him to think about the tune to begin with. Eddie, there slotted against his side, all kinds of warm in every meaning of the word.

He felt himself lull towards sleep, his eyes falling closed and his focus on the feeling of Eddie against him becoming the only thing his brain.

_‘And the first time ever I lay with you_ _  
And felt you heart so close to mine,  
And I knew our joy would fill the earth  
It would last till the end of time, my love  
It would last till the end of time  
The first time ever I saw your face  
Your face, your face…’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Richie is thinking about is "For the First Time Ever I saw your Face", more specifically the Roberta Flack version. 
> 
> Also, the mixtape that Richie is thinking about is the one from "Tell Me You Know" I'll link it here if you want to listen to it. Trust and believe that there will be more playlists to come because if you haven't figured it out already, I love music. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5O10rCKwHFZiN91MFLRdut?si=pbz22s0uTwG-ADcszKQJ5A


	5. Welcome Home Richie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t fucking believe it. He was so happy, so relieved. He was finally leaving today… he was wearing his clothes and not some fucking hospital gown. He was finally going to be able to sleep in his own fucking home and eat food that wasn’t bland and dry. He was finally… going home.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. He was so happy, so _relieved._ He was finally leaving today… he was wearing _his clothes_ and not some fucking hospital gown. He was finally going to be able to sleep in his own fucking home and eat food that wasn’t bland and dry. He was finally… going home.

He was all packed and ready to go, his few belongings that he had with him were packed safely away in Eddie’s backpack, it was really just his toothbrush, and his Walkman with a few cassette tapes, one of which had been Roberta Flack’s _First Take_ album. A special request that Richie had made to Ben a few days ago, eager to listen to it and study the song that had been on his heart, he first had to figure out _what song_ it was, and with some conversation with his mother, he figured that out pretty quickly, she also told him the album he could find it on, and the year it was released, she really was a big fan.

They were all there now, waiting for Doctor Carter to come in and do his final examination and discharge. Eddie and Bev sat with him in bed, to make room for everyone in the room, it was a little cramped with everyone there. Bev sat by his feet, close to his casted leg, and Eddie sat next to his right hip, with his legs crossed, facing Richie who had his bed adjusted to an upright position so he can see and talk to everyone. Stan, Bill, and Mike hung out by the window, and his parents sat in the armchairs that Bev and Eddie were happy to be leaving, and Ben stood next to Richie’s bed, by Bev. They were all so happy, the happiest he’s seen them all in two weeks, he lost count of the smiles and laughs they all shared.

A nurse came in earlier and gave Went paperwork to fill out for Richie’s discharge, then instructed Richie on how to safely slide on the plastic coverings for his casts in order to bathe. It was kind of funny, those damn plastic covers, they looked a bit like a space suit over his casts, all puffy and weird, there were no finger holes in the one for his arm, and he joked about looking like a weird teddy bear. The nurse also gave him some ice packs and a stress ball for his broken arm, to start strengthening his tendons again. It wasn’t a _fun_ stress ball, just a blue ball of firm foam.

All of that stuff was packed into Eddie’s bookbag as she went through it. Eddie listened intently to her instruction, and even asked questions as she went along, it was sweet how much he cared and Richie was thankful he was there, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to remember half of what she said.

He was feeling a lot better overall, his chest didn’t hurt _as often_ , and he wasn’t getting _that_ dizzy anymore. He could talk at full volume and even started to make a really bad habit of fucking with the scars on his face, Eddie kept snatching his hand away before Richie even realized he was picking at a scab.

He was even able to _move around_ better too. He could pretty much clamber in and out of his wheelchair by himself, and it’s easier now for him to move around in bed. He’s found himself using his casted arm more and more, because it doesn’t hurt as much to grab things anymore, though he still struggles with even closing his hand into a fist. His arm was the most frustrating thing about all of his injuries, the fact that he won’t be able to play his guitar while he sits on his ass all day was infuriating. The two things at the top of his _‘want to do but can’t list’_ were get hot and heavy with Eddie, and play his fucking guitar. Both of which so seemingly close, but still so… so far.

Eddie has gotten more comfortable touching him these past few weeks too, but it was both a blessing and a burden because Richie just _wants him so fucking bad._ It’s been the longest they’ve gone without doing anything sexual since they’ve started dating and it was the worst thing in the world. It was weird watching the love bites on his neck fade away from their rosewood purple and back to the natural color of his skin these past few weeks. Richie wanted so bad to just fucking… put them back. He knows that he can’t really do much, because his most craved sexual desires all involved going down on Eddie, which he knows would be very difficult to do in his current state, having just gotten comfortable with _sitting up_ without the help of his fancy reclining hospital bed.

But hey… at least he had something to look forward to.

“You’re going to be so comfortable. We set the cable back up on the TV so you can have something to watch besides movies.” Mike was telling him excitedly.

“I got you some puzzle books.” Stan said. “Word searches, sudoku, cross words…”

“Well you guys are missing the best part… we bought a whole new couch.” Bill said.

“Oh, shit I thought that was going to be a surprise.” Mike said.

Stan sighed and Ben laughed a bit.

“Well the cat’s out of the bag, we bought a new couch, it folds out into a cot, it makes a full sized bed so we had to get new sheets because none of us have a full sized bed… so at least those could be a surprise.” Mike said, still just as excited.

“Damn I should get in more car accidents, if I knew I’d get treated like such royalty I would have done this sooner.”

Bev, Mike, Bill, and Went chuckled a bit. Eddie sat staring daggers at him.

“Not funny.” Eddie said finally.

“Oh, come on I’m just kidding Spaghetti-head.” Richie giggled, leaning to lightly pinch Eddie’s cheek, because he just looked so fucking adorable.

Eddie groaned and pushed his hand away. “I still don’t fucking get that nickname. All these years and you still haven’t come up with something new.”

“Hey man, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

“But it’s been broken this whole time!” Eddie laughed.

Richie laughed too; his wholehearted belly laugh that didn’t hurt as much to do anymore.

“Fuck I just want to get _out_ of here, I have a marathon to run in a week, I have to get started on my training.”

“The only marathon you’re doing as a fucking movie marathon, sir. You are not moving unless you have to piss, shit, or bathe.” Eddie said matter of factly.

“Or do a lap around the neighborhood.” Richie said, mostly out of boredom to fuck with Eddie.

Eddie sighed dramatically.

“Richie stop pissing off my son in law.” Went said, through a smirk not looking up from the clipboard on his lap, still filling out the discharge paperwork.

Richie snorted and his goofy lopsided grin forced itself onto his expression. Eddie grinned just the same, but he blushed too and tried to turn his head away from Richie because he was trying to be mad at him.

“Oh, come here Eddie-bear!” Richie leaned and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him towards himself to plant a firm, wet kiss on his cheek.

“Richie be careful!” Eddie said through his laugh, falling ungracefully into Richie’s shoulder.

Richie planted kiss after kiss into his cheek and forehead, all kinds of dramatic and extreme. Eddie squirmed around to sit more comfortably next to Richie.

“That is the worst nick-name of all.” Eddie said when he eventually settled next to Richie, slotted beneath his arm.

“Someone’s feeling better.” Bev said laughing.

“I know, I think Eddie’s got his work cut out for him.” Went said.

“Richie are you sure you guys don’t want to come back with us, honey?” Maggie asked, a bit of concern tainting her tone.

“I’m sure Ma… I really want to stay here. Plus, Doctor Carter is here, and he knows the whole deal with my leg and shit already… I don’t want to switch doctors. And, Eddie has to get back to work and I want to be here with him.” Richie replied.

It was a conversation they’ve already had. Maggie expressing her concern and just being generally upset about having to go back home to Chicago, of which they leave for tomorrow. She loved her son, and it was as simple as that. When your kid is in pain and looking like an all-around _mess_ … one feels inclined to want to help in every way they could. Maggie was just responding to her motherly instinct, and putting an offer on the table that consisted of Richie going with them to Chicago so Maggie could look out for him. It was sweet, and Richie would expect nothing less of her, she was a great mom, always looking out for him. The reality though, was that he simply didn’t need to go, or really _want_ to go, not because he didn’t want to be with his parents, but because he had Eddie here in Maine, and he had Bev, Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben.

He wanted to be in his home again, in their house, as shitty as it was. He wanted to look at the silly, _borderline creepy_ figurines they’ve collected from the Goodwill that were placed about their living room. He wanted to hear it when Bill tripped down the stairs instead of just listen to Mike recount the moment through a fit of giggles. He wanted to watch the sunset through the massive windows in their living room.

Maggie nodded, and even with that sorrowful smile on her face she seemed content, because she knew that her son was grown up now, and his family was more than just her and Went.

Went had a more realistic outlook on the whole thing, though he was usually the comedic dreamer in the duo. He knew that Richie would be just fine here with Eddie and the rest of them. He and Maggie had a lot of love and trust for all of them, having known them since they were a rag-tag group crazy kids that slept on the floor of their living room, and made a pile of muddy shoes at their front door. They knew how much love they had for Richie and trusted them immensely. The only thing Went felt he had to make sure of, was that Richie knew to give _his_ phone number to anyone who needed to sort out insurance information, he wanted to handle all of the legal shit, so Richie didn’t have to worry about it. He just wanted Richie to focus on his health and getting better.

Doctor Carter came into the room then, knocking on the door before opening it and coming in with that same blue folder he’s been carrying around during every visit he’s had with Richie.

“I fear this may be the last time we’re all together like this.” Doctor Carter said, in a comedic fashion that erupted soft laughter from all of them, each of them excited to finally see Richie out of this place.

“Alright, let’s get started with all of this so I can get you folks on the way home.” Doctor Carter said with a smile.

He ran through Richie’s most recent MRI and CAT scans of his lungs and brain, both of which looked great. His lung, once collapsed, was pretty much healed by now, his surgery held up well. His brain looked fine, they have been watching out for hemorrhaging, which was a big worry for Doctor Carter for how much damage Richie’s head took in the crash. He was happy to report everything looked great and that his ribs and leg were healing well after surgery. Richie was given the official all clear and there was a weight lifted from the room. It was official… he was going _home._

The drive was… fun… well, actually not at all, because he and Eddie rode in the back of Went’s rented van, and Eddie spent the whole time worried about Richie. _‘Are you okay?... How do you feel?... Is the seatbelt hurting your chest?... Does your leg feel okay there?’_

The man even had to use his inhaler. Richie in turn, spent the drive worrying about _him_. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, leaning forward each time they came to a stop to look both ways at an intersection. His anxiety was through the roof, and Richie didn’t know how to help. All he could do was reassure that he was fine and try his best to look like he was staring pleasantly out the window and not draw attention to the fact that Eddie was freaking out, because that usually made him freak out _more_.

Richie wasn’t feeling at all scared about the car ride, surprisingly. It seems that Eddie had taken it upon himself to psych himself out about cars now. Richie was upset by that, because Eddie fucking _loved_ cars. He loved _being the one_ driving more specifically, long drives in his 1985 Jeep Grand Cheeroke at sunset was a part of their summertime routine, driving just for the fun of it, listening to the playlist Richie made for them, lying across the seat with his head on Eddie’s lap, feeling the weight of his thigh in his hand. Remembering moments like this made him feel worse about their current one, Eddie getting _so fucking worked up_ about being on the road now.

When they finally pulled in the driveway, Eddie seemed to be fine again, taking a deep breath and hopping out of the car to quickly retrieve Richie’s wheelchair from the trunk. Richie took it upon himself to open his own door, and unbuckle his seatbelt, he even swung his legs out of the car and slid out of his seat, using the handle next to the door to hold himself steady.

Eddie came around the car with his wheelchair then. “Damn, you barely need me.”

“Don’t say that, I always need you Eds.” Richie said, smiling as he sat in the chair.

Eddie chuckled and bent to press a kiss into his hair before pushing the chair towards the entrance of the house.

So, here’s the thing about staying in the hospital for two weeks after you almost, but also _did_ die. It feels like you were there for _two years._ Sitting in the _same fucking spot_ eating the same fucking food, staring at the same fucking set of walls… it was the most boring and depressing thing. It made time march slow and each day drag on, only to leave him to exist in the night alone, staring at the blurry ceiling, looking for shapes in it. He didn’t even want to _imagine_ what it would have been like if he didn’t have Eddie and Bev there. He would have been bored to fucking _tears_ probably, they were great for doing that for him, just being there with him, talking when he wanted to talk, sitting in silence when he was going through a migraine or was trying to cope with raw pain as they were figuring out his medications.

He almost didn’t recognize the front door, he felt like it had been so fucking long, and the driveway looked weird with his car not there. But honestly, good fucking riddance because that car was a piece of shit.

Eddie wheeled him up to the front door, and Bill jogged ahead to unlock it. The blinding sunlight and chill of winter boggled his senses a bit, but it was nice in a way, no more florescent lighting. Getting over the step into the front door was mildly difficult with the wheelchair, but they did it, and Richie finally got to see the living room he’s missed so much.

They had strung some fairy lights across the ceiling, like how he and Eddie did in the basement last summer. There were some posters on the wall that Richie recognized to be his own. The television was propped up a bit better on a higher table, and the one it used to be on was pushed up against a wall with a few hampers of folded laundry, Richie’s clothes. They really did think of everything.

The cot looked cozy, and Richie was happy that they kept the blankets a surprise because they were fucking epic. The comforter had dinosaurs on it and the sheets themselves were space themed, with planets and constellations, they were all cartoony and obviously meant for kids, but Richie smiled and nodded along to his laughter. Mike clapped a hand to his good shoulder, and Richie tapped his hand against it, a silent exchange.

There was a table next to the cot with an array of baskets, and Richie _just knew it had to have been Stan_ who put the whole assembly together. In one basket, was the stack of puzzles he mentioned with a few pens, another basket had an assortment of medications, and in the last one were things like lotion, lens wipes, cotton swabs, hair ties, and hand sanitizer. Next to the baskets, was a new reusable water bottle as well as the television remotes. On the ground in front of the table was a small trash can. Richie was pretty much all set.

Ben came around and opened the drawer of the table, revealing a collection of cassette tapes. “I wasn’t sure which ones you liked the most, so I started grabbing the ones you listened to a lot and it overflowed the basket that Stan wanted me to put them in, so it ended up just being the whole drawer.”

“Well that’s perfect because they’re all my favorite.” That was the response that came to mind because it was pretty much true. Richie found an appreciation for a lot of music; he could listen to just about any song on any of the tracks he owned and he would be able to find something he liked about it. He could always find something to bop his head along to or let his fingers explore the neck of his guitar as he listened, figuring out the chords of the piece or the string of notes at a given part of the song.

He stopped the thought process before he could get too far ahead of himself, dwelling on the fact that he couldn’t play guitar any time soon. A good part of him wanted to cry, and a smaller part of him wanted to dig into Eddie’s backpack to find that damned stress ball.

“Oh, wait a second.” Eddie said from behind his wheelchair, by the time Richie turned to look at him, kind of alarmed by the suddenness of his voice, he was gone, and was replaced by Went, holding the handles of the chair.

Eddie scurried away and Richie heard the familiar sound of him running downstairs, he continued to look around the room, figuring out what has changed. Noticing the cable box next to the television now, and the way that they arranged the furniture, the two arm chairs were now framing the entrance to the dining room, the couch on front of the bay window next to Richie’s cot was pretty much the only thing the same about the room.

“Oh yeah, we brought the old couch downstairs, there was nowhere else to put it, and there was a lot of space on the wall next to the whole music area.” Mike said, noticing how Richie was now looking at the arrangement of furniture.

They all took off their coats and boots, Richie pulled off his _one shoe_ and Bev helped him to take off the massive zippered hoodie he wore. His parents bought him a giant hoodie to accommodate for the size of his cast, Maggie had brought it with her that morning, not wanting him to be too cold on their commute home.

Eddie came jogging back into the room then, panting a bit, he held out to Richie what it was he retrieved. His favorite photo… the photo of them, from summer break on their camping trip, Richie laying in the grass with Eddie perched on top of him. The photo that Richie didn’t realize he missed so much. He felt his eyebrows knot together just looking at it. His mouth tweaked into a tight smile and his throat did that annoying thing where it tightens up just before you cry. Which Richie really didn’t want to do, but it was all just so much. From worrying about Eddie in the car, who got himself all worked up worrying about _him_ , coming home and seeing all of the arrangements and accommodations his friends have made for _him_ , then to top the whole thing off with the damn photo and his dad’s comforting hand at his shoulder as he leant down to view the photo as well. He was overwhelmed with love and was just so dammed happy to _be alive._

He couldn’t help but sniffle, and Eddie crouched next to him.

Went gave his shoulder a good squeeze before taking his hand away. Eddie then draped his arm around Richie’s shoulders, using his free hand to swipe away the tears on Richie’s face. _“What do you say we order a pizza and watch_ The Exorcist _tonight?”_ Eddie whispered.

Richie smiled all wobbly through his tears, laughing at how fucking _amazing_ that plan sounded. Both things sounding so absurd coming from Eddie’s mouth, who tried to eat healthy and avoided ‘nasty horror movies’ at all costs.

“I love you.” Richie said.

“I love you too.” Eddie leant to press a kiss against his cheek before standing up.

Richie took a deep breath, and gave the picture one last look before leaning to set it down on the table.

His first day home was great overall, it started with Richie relaxing on his cot while Eddie talked to his parents in the basement, he listened to music on his Walkman, enjoying himself for a good amount of time until he started getting that familiar urge to pick up his guitar, which instead made him reach for his stress ball. Squeezing at it in such a frustrating manor that made his arm jolt with pain.

After that, Mike filtered into the room, eager to show Richie how exciting it was to have cable again. They had a good time tuning into old timey cartoon channels, becoming stupidly entertained by the cartoons meant for the childhood of a previous generation. Eventually they all got hungry, and made sandwiches for lunch, all kind of meeting up in the living room, watching whatever dumb cartoon had come on.

Richie was enjoying himself, being home was a lot more relaxing than the hospital obviously, it was nice having them all kind of spread out over the house. Eddie and Bev no longer feeling the need to worry over him. Bev disappeared to her room, which geographically was behind Richie’s head, he heard the whirr of her sewing machine and was comforted by it, something familiar linked with fond memories. He loved the fact that she was able to get back to work. Returning to whatever project she had abandoned two weeks ago.

Eddie filtered in and out, but stayed with Richie most of the time, settling into the couch with a book at one point, Richie had positioned his headphones on his head in such a way that didn’t bother his gash, freshly bothered with by the removal of his staples a few days ago. He was able to angle himself in such a way to listen and admire, which was his favorite thing to do.

He listened to a tape he’s missed these past two weeks, _Hatful of Hollow_ by the Smiths. Eddie had changed into something more comfortable to relax the day away in, a pair of shorts and one of Richie’s hoodies, and he looked absolutely _adorable_. The way he crossed his legs at the ankles, that made his perfect legs just look _more perfect_ and how when he wasn’t turning the page, his arm rested behind his head, cradling it as he read through whatever book it was. Something Richie didn’t recognize that was probably nonfiction and _self-helpy_ , because that’s what Eddie usually read.

Richie accidentally drifted to sleep watching him, though he lay on top of the covers, he was just so fucking comfortable. Comfortable with the scent of his home all around him, and the feeling of not having an IV in his arm anymore. His nap was _maybe_ thirty minutes, but it was the best he’s slept in a while, waking up to Eddie smiling at him from the couch, with the winter sun setting behind him.

Eventually, his parents left, they made their rounds of hugs and kisses, Went dishing out words of wisdom, and Maggie reassuring that they’re just a phone call, a plane ride, and a drive away if they needed them. Richie was sad to see his parents go, but was at the same time happy for them to get back to their normal lives in Chicago.

Once they saw Went and Maggie out, Eddie helped Richie with a shower, both of them agreeing that the scent of hospital needed to be banished once and for all. They went into Bev and Ben’s room, they had the master suite, with the nicest shower in the house, a pretty spacious walk in glass one, maybe twice the size of the one Eddie and Richie had in the basement. They closed the door to the bedroom itself and left the door of the bathroom cracked, as Bev worked at her sewing machine, being the standby person if something were to go wrong per Eddie’s request.

It was funny, really, the image of Richie’s weird plastic arm and leg was funny enough alone to spiral him into a fit of laughter, but that combined with how he and Eddie joked around as he showered made it the best shower of his life. They laughed and yelled and were all around goofballs the whole time.

After that, the sun was _well set_ , and it was time for dinner, they did just what Eddie had promised, they ordered a few pizzas, and piled into the living room to watch _The Exorcist._ It really was one of Richie’s favorites, and not only because of how funny it was _watching_ Eddie and Stan watch the movie, though it was a perk for sure. The way they’d put a hand over their eyes and make a face when the super gory parts came on was the highlight of the whole movie watching experience.

After that, Richie took his prescribed pain medication, meticulously instructed by Eddie, who, earlier that day, went through all of his pill bottles and wrote out a list of what he was to take and when. He was very organized with the whole thing, and it was a comfort of not having to worry about forgetting what he had taken already and if he was supposed to or not.

And because his earlier dose had worn off, he was feeling pretty shitty in that moment, all of his pain kind of coming back and pulsing that familiar ache around his head and chest especially, but also his knee and arm if he moved in such a way. If he was in the hospital, he would simply recline the bed and stare at the ceiling, because there wasn’t much he _could do_ , listening to music and talking really affecting his headache and multiplying it. But now, he was home, and Stanly Uris was amazing, so he sat up in bed, and worked on a word search with Eddie at his side.

Everyone else had disappeared into their own rooms for the night, because they were all kind of early birds now, with Richie’s accident and the visiting hours in the hospital. It was just him and Eddie who were still awake, with the living room lit only by the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. They sat side by side, each with a pen, passing the book back and forth when one of them found a word that hadn’t been circled yet. It was nice, it was relaxing, and it was weird not hearing the murmur of nurses outside his door, or the sounds of feint beeps coming from wherever in the hospital.

They were together, sharing a space in silence, and that alone felt intimate.

By the time they finished a few puzzles, Richie’s medications had kicked in, he felt almost normal because of how well they were able to perfect his dosage in the time he spent in the hospital. They worked through the last half of the puzzle they were on, getting pretty competitive with it, snatching the book as fast as they could from each other when they came across a word. It was surprisingly _fun._

Eventually, they deemed it time to get ready for bed, so Eddie disappeared downstairs to brush his teeth, and go through his nighttime routine, coming back upstairs with Richie’s toothbrush, toothpaste, the black duvet from their bed in the basement and a pillow. As Richie brushed his teeth, Eddie set up his sleeping arrangement on the couch next to him.

Once Richie’s mouth was clean, and his glasses were safely folded on his bedside table, Eddie turned out the lights and pressed a kiss to Richie’s cheek before crawling beneath the duvet on the couch. He released this adorable content sigh into the darkness, and Richie knew he had that smile on his face that usually came with it.

It was peaceful there in the dark, in the familiar silence of their house, with no one else in the room besides Eddie. Absent was the occasional interruption of a nurse coming into the room to check up on him, or the blare of a machine from somewhere outside the door.

“I missed being alone with you…” Richie said into the darkness, to Eddie on the couch.

“Me too.” Eddie replied, and Richie heard him shift, he squinted into the darkness to see that he turned to his side, towards him.

“Hey…” Richie stage whispered. “You should come over here and lay with me.”

Eddie snorted a bit before laughing into a sigh and standing up. “Okay, but not for the night, this cot is only so big.”

“We used to sleep on a twin bed every night together.” Richie argued.

“I know, but that was before you had a broken leg, arm, ribs, and head.” Eddie argued back as he slotted beneath the blanket next to Richie, propping himself up on his elbow, as his hand found Richie’s on his chest, slotting their fingers together.

“That’s true, but it is a fact that I sleep better when I’ve got my _second favorite Kaspbrak_ to cuddle.”

Eddie sighed and shook his head. “Those jokes are so fucking old…”

Richie laughed to himself and Eddie leaned to kiss his shoulder it was sweet, soft, and brief.

“I wonder what she’d say if I tell her about this whole thing.” Eddie said then.

“What, us getting together on her birthday, dating for almost a year, then me dying for a little bit and becoming all kinds of broken and needy?” Richie asked.

“Yes.” Eddie nodded as he chuckled a bit.

“She’d probably say something like _‘serves him right’_ and then she’ll tell you for the thousandth time that you’re not actually gay, even though you love my fucking dick in your ass. Maybe I should give her a call and tell her how dirty you get about it too.” Richie chuckled behind his words as he spoke. “How you work so hard to fit every inch of my fucking co—” 

Richie was cut off by Eddie’s hand on his mouth, and his forehead against his shoulder. “Stop that before it goes too far.”

Richie just laughed, knowing how horny Eddie gets when it comes to dirty talk. He wished he could just roll to the side and start working love bites into his neck and slot his thigh between his legs to give him something to grind into.

Eventually Eddie’s hand fell from Richie’s mouth and landed somewhere along his chest, tracing along his collarbone as he brought his head back up to rest on his hand.

“I’m happy you don’t smell like a hospital anymore.” Eddie said then, obviously trying to change the topic of discussion.

Richie only nodded and found the shape of his eyes in the dark. There was a beat of silence before either of them spoke again.

“Hey Eds.”

“Hm?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” Richie asked, though he felt like he knew the answer now.

Eddie sighed, and Richie heard him swallow a bit, as if he was suddenly nervous. “Well…” Eddie paused to clear his throat a bit. “At first I didn’t because I was honestly afraid of hurting you, because I didn’t really know what would hurt you and what wouldn’t, so I just kind of stuck to holding your hand… but then as you became more and more, well… _you…_ I just didn’t want to get too carried away I guess…” His voice kind of trailed off on the last bit.

“What does _that_ mean?” Richie giggled.

_“You fucking know what it means.”_

He did kind of have a point; their kisses were never really _brief._ The ones on their lips anyway. With Richie and Eddie, there was never a peck of a kiss before bed, or a gentle and brief kiss over morning coffee, no it was always their lips swiping gently against one another until one of them advanced, growing hungrier for the other, licking into each other’s mouths and their tongues dancing together. The _kiss_ usually ended with Eddie on Richie’s lap as Richie kissed and bit along his neck and chest and then _that_ usually ended with Richie’s dick in his ass. There was never a brief kiss of comfort or as a silent _‘I love you’,_ those were always to each other’s heads, cheeks, foreheads, or hands.

“Well, Eddie K, I’ll have you know that there is nothing more in the world that I want than to get carried away with you.” Richie said, and it was the honest truth.

“Fuck, Richie…” Eddie said, and behind his voice was that familiar groaning whine he did in moments so sensual.

“If it wasn’t for all these damned casts, I would be fucking you right now probably, and that’s what breaks my heart.” Richie said, partially joking, and he knew he should stop because Eddie ‘ _didn’t want to get carried away’_ but he felt that he couldn’t. He was just so excited to be alone with him, and was giddy off the fact that he was home and he had Eddie here at his side.

Eddie put his hand over his mouth again, and to be a shit, Richie did the same over Eddie’s. Then he remembered that Eddie was a fucking size-queen and always blabbered about how big his hands were, his eyes widened, and his mouth parted beneath his palm. Richie couldn’t help but snort into laughter, it was funny, really how hard of a time Eddie was having with this shit.

Eddie took his own hand away from his mouth to pull Richie’s hand off of his own.

“You’re doing it on purpose you fucking ass hole.” Eddie said, though there wasn’t an ounce of anger in his voice.

“So, what if I am.”

“So, you _want_ us to go to sleep with fucking blue-balls?”

“No, I want to drift to sleep thinking about you so I can dream about fucking you into the bed. Feeling how fucking hot and tight you are and loving the way you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut because you’re so drunk on nothing but my cock in your ass.” Richie said, a bit growly and low.

Eddie’s hand didn’t find his mouth this time, he just kind of sat there with his mouth open, staring at him.

“Have you been thinking about me like that? All this time, you’ve missed playing with my dick, so you didn’t want to kiss me because you don’t want to get so fucking turned on that you had to leave and go rub one out?” Richie sat up and turned as best he could, mirroring Eddie propped up on his elbow.

“Fuck Eds I wish I could fuck you like how you need me too. I wish you could sit on my lap and grind against my stomach as I work hickies into your tits and neck. I wish I could fucking pick you up and fuck into you against the wall or some shit, watching the way you bounce and whine in front of me.”

_“You talk too much.”_ Eddie said, in that _fucking voice_ that Richie has missed _so much._ That deep velvety voice that sent chills up his fucking spine.

“Yeah, and you fucking love it, it gives you something to focus on when you’re taking my cock so deep you can barely fucking speak, you’re so blissed out and gone.” Richie leaned a bit to talk more into his ear, brushing their cheeks together. “You love when I talk about how fucking pretty you are when you take it too, how your cheeks get all blushed and your eyes get all blown out, and you can’t keep your fucking mouth closed so that pretty tongue of yours is on display with those wet fucking lips all bruised for how hard we kissed before I stuck it in you.”

Eddie’s hand found the neckline of Richie’s shirt, gripping it hard and kind of holding him there.

“God I wish I could fuck you right now Eds, I know how much you fucking want me to. You’re probably so fucking tight too, going so long without my cock stretching you out.”

Eddie pushed their cheeks together, as Richie spoke.

“I’m so fucking hard right now just thinking about it, how good you feel Eds… thinking about how you quiver and whine just before you fucking _get there._ Always so pretty… so _fucking pretty.”_

Eddie took a shuddering breath. _“Richie…”_

His voice has turned into that gentle whispered whine now.

“What’s up Eds? Is it something I said?”

“Let me suck your fucking cock.”

Holy shit.

“You don’t have to.” Richie said, because Eddie has never really _done that_ with him before, and Richie has always assumed that it’s got something to do with hygiene.

“No, I want to. _So… fucking bad.”_ Eddie whined into his ear. “I want you to cum down my throat.”

“You’re fucking _filthy Eddie K.”_

Richie then leant to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth, velvety and familiar, as if testing the waters, seeing if Eddie was _really sure._

Eddie then tipped his head to connect their lips entirely, having licked his lips at some point in their recent moments, making them slick with saliva and tasting entirely of him and the remnants of cherry Chapstick. Eddie pushed him back a bit, making him lay back down on the bed, against the pillows. Their slick lips danced a silent dance and Richie was quickly getting drunk on the feeling, Eddie kissing into him, leading it, kissing him deeply, then pulling away a bit to press pecks against the corners of his mouth before diving in completely again.

Eventually they grew hungrier and started licking into each other’s mouths, Richie loving the way their tongues danced together and how Eddie’s fingers found the back of his scalp where it meets his neck, sort of a weak spot for him that when touched the right way makes his knees feel like jelly and his stomach flutter.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, as if making up for all that lost time, when Eddie knew they couldn’t because it would fucking escalate like this. He was right too, because holy _shit_ was kissing Eddie intoxicating. Richie’s stomach pooled and that familiar warmth built up, that sensation of arousal growing stronger and stronger, making itself harder to ignore.

Richie couldn’t help but groan into the kiss, because kissing Eddie was _that fucking good_. The combined sensation of his fingers at his scalp with the feeling of their lips hot against each other. Eddie’s fingers tangled into his hair as he moved to trail kisses along his jaw and neck, biting, licking and sucking as he went along.

“You sure about this Eds?” Richie asked, it sounded out of breath and lustful because both of which he was.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my fucking life.” Eddie said, kissing his skin as he mumbled against his neck. “I’ve missed you so fucking much like this. I want to make you feel good… how you always make me feel.”

“Can’t argue with that I guess.” Richie said in that same tone of voice.

“I’m so fucking happy you’re okay.” Eddie said, whispered close to his ear before planting a sweet kiss just below his ear. Richie responded with his hand at the back of his neck, thumbing sweetly at his earlobe as Eddie worked his mouth into the skin of his neck.

Richie couldn’t help but squirm at the sensation dragging his good leg up, bending it because somehow that made a difference, he rolled his hips once and gasped at the way Eddie’s free hand started to travel, down his chest and navel, stopping once his hand reached the outline of his cock in his basketball shorts.

_“I’ll never get over how fucking big you are…”_ Eddie groaned next to his ear. Letting his hand glide along the outline of his dick.

The touch felt exhilarating, it felt amazing and he wasn’t even bare. Richie groaned and Eddie’s gentle hand at the back of his head scratched lightly at his scalp, the combined sensation caused his leg to jolt.

Eddie’s hand on his crotch disappeared only to push the blanket off of them. Richie took the moment to reach to his nightstand table to retrieve his glasses, because he would be fucking crazy to not _see_ Eddie taking his dick in his mouth.

Eddie’s thigh draped around his leg, still kind of bent against him, as he let his hand travel again, this time disappearing into the waist band of Richie’s shorts, wrapping around his cock. Eddie’s forehead rested against his shoulder and Richie groaned into the sensation.

His thumb worked around the head of his cock, and Richie felt his thigh tense with each swipe of it.

_“Fuck Eds…”_ Richie gasped, because even though Eddie wasn’t really doing much of anything, the fact that it was _Eddie_ was enough to make him go crazy.

Eddie kissed at his shoulder through his shirt before shifting to slide down his body, grinding his crotch against his leg as he went, causing him to hiss and sigh. He settled between his legs and sat up to help Richie out of his shorts, getting them off of his good leg and leaving them forgotten somewhere along his casted one. Eddie began with a swift graze of his tongue up along the shaft, a feeling so thrilling that it caused Richie to throw his head back into the pillows.

_“Fuck… fuck… holy shit Eddie oh my GOD!”_ Richie couldn’t help but say, because Eddie then wrapped his lips around his cock and was swirling his tongue around the head. Richie hadn’t even looked yet at how good he probably looked there, with his lips around his cock like that.

He sat up as best he could, propping himself on his elbows to view the scene, adjusting his glasses on his nose so he could see properly. The sight was breathtaking, Eddie staring up at him with his big brown eyes, with his dick in his mouth, bobbing up and down with the combined effort of his hand wrapped around the portion of his shaft that couldn’t fit in his mouth.

“ _You look so fucking pretty like this with my cock in your mouth, your pretty lips all red.”_ Richie’s mouth naturally couldn’t be stopped, and every thought that came to his mind escaped his lips. 

Eddie’s free hand found Richie’s balls then, massaging them as he continued to bob his head, hollowing his cheeks pressing his tongue firmly beneath the head of his cock. Richie’s mouth fell open and his head rolled back on his shoulders, because holy shit did it _feel so fucking good…_ Eddie was taking care of him so fucking well.

The urge to fuck up into his mouth was strong, but he did everything in his power not to, because Eddie was doing such a good fucking job of sucking his cock he didn’t want to change a thing. Every sensation combined, the firm grasp of his hand pumping him in time with the bobs of his head, warm and wet, plump lips tight around his cock, the press of his tongue on all the right places and the tightness of his hollowed cheeks, to top it all off, his other hand was going to town on his balls and Richie couldn’t fucking think straight.

If this happened a week ago he would _literally_ be seeing stars, but thankfully now, all he saw was Eddie, there, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his head down onto his cock, swallowing around him and Richie felt like he died again at the feeling of hitting the back of his throat.

_“Eddie baby what the fuck are you doing to me holy shit!”_ Richie cried.

And Eddie responded by fucking _doing it again._ With his eyes opened this time, tears at the corners, and his eyebrows knotted together as he fit Richie’s cock as far into his mouth as he could. All the while massaging at his balls and fisting around what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. The sight was exhilarating, so much so, that he shifted his weight on his elbows to tangle his good hand into Eddie’s hair, whose eyes fluttered closed and groaned at the attention.

The vibrations of his voice around his cock was a whole new sensation that sent those waves of stimulation across his body. Eddie let up on his deep throating to focus on pumping his hand along his cock so slick with spit now it made that vulgar sound of all kinds of wetness.

It wouldn’t be long now before Richie reached his climax, every sensation, every stroke bringing him closer and closer. Each swipe of Eddie’s tongue at the head of his cock and each squeeze of his balls was sending a shiver through his thigh, from the urge to fuck up into his mouth.

_“I’m so fucking close Eds holy shit.”_ Richie groaned and tightened his grip on Eddie’s hair. He didn’t really mean to do it. It was more of a reflex that Eddie seemed to enjoy because he moaned around Richie’s dick again before forcing his cock to the back of his throat for the third fucking time.

Just as Eddie bobbed his head back up, Richie was shooting down his throat, with his head thrown back into the pillows and his fist gripping Eddie’s hair, who pumped and massaged him through his orgasm, working him of every last drop of cum before removing his hands and mouth completely. Eddie then sat up, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

“Damn, that was insane.” Richie said through pants and breathy laughter, as Eddie helped him slide his pants back on.

“Welcome home, babe.” Eddie said giggling as he leant to press a kiss to his hipbone before crawling off of the bed and standing up.

Just as Eddie started to walk away Richie grabbed his wrist. “Wait, let me return the fucking favor.”

Eddie snorted a bit. “Oh, no there’s no favor to return…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I have to go change my fucking pants and wash my mouth.” Eddie said before walking towards the basement door.

“Eddie Kaspbrak you’ll never cease to amaze me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Your comments mean the world to me, I love seeing what everyone thinks about the story so far! I hope you all are staying safe with this whole pandemic, scary shit! 
> 
> Also, if you're in the US, vote for Bernie!!! He didn't drop out, he just isn't campaigning because of the pandemic!


	6. Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How else do you cut your hair when you have a massive fucking scar on the side of your head?

“Okay you have to take your glasses off or its not going to work.” Bev said as she tried to figure out how to adjust the settings on the clippers Mike let them borrow.

“I honestly don’t care if it’s even, just cut the damn thing off.” Richie said as he slid his glasses off his face, folding them and setting them on the bathroom counter.

Eddie was at work, trying to get as many shifts in at the auto supply shop as he could before they all went back to classes. Well… all except for Richie, because after deeply analyzing his life choices and deciding what he values and what he doesn’t, as well as the consideration of trying to get around on campus by himself with these injuries, he’s decided to not go. For the semester at least.

Not only was Biology _not his fucking forte_ but he just didn’t really enjoy any of his classes, or really find himself excited about that aspect of his life. Seeing Bev, Mike, Bill, and Stan get super invested in their schoolwork really made him think about the fact that you were supposed to _enjoy_ what you were studying. He never really felt that way about biology, but he never found a reason to change it considering _nothing_ really jived with him except for the more artsy majors, that he knew would never fly by his parents.

Eddie had only recently found something he enjoyed in college. Their previous semester he finally decided that he enjoyed psychology enough to make it his major, so he did. The work frustrated him a bit, but he enjoyed reading about it and Richie enjoyed hearing him talk about it, analyzing the actions of their friends, but mostly Richie. Linking his behaviors back to parts of his brain and explaining the reasoning behind some of his more outlandish decisions.

In a way, his accident was a blessing in disguise because it gave him time to think about what he really wanted to do, and so far that was spend time with Eddie and their friends, and play his guitar. And currently, he could only really do _one_ of those things, so here he was with Bev in her bathroom, about to fix up the weird side shave that the hospital gave him when they stapled the gash on his head.

His hair always grew fast, he was the type of guy that had to shave just about every day if he wanted to keep his face smooth. So not only did he have a weird looking side shave, but he also had a _beard_ coming in, and it surprised him every time he looked in the mirror. It was itchy and very annoying, so they had plans to shave that too.

The hair that they shaved away at the hospital had grown back a good amount, kind of filling in the spots where his paper white scalp could be seen before. Richie by no means wanted it to look like that again, so here they were, trying to figure out how to adjust the length on the clippers.

“Oh shit, I figured it out.” Bev said, sliding the comb portion of the clippers to prove it. “Okay hold still I’m going to do it.”

“Okay.” Richie said, and he tipped his head to give her more access to the side of it.

He heard the buzz of the clippers close to his ear, and Bev stood so close he could smell the sweetness of her perfume and the scent of cigarettes on her clothes. She snipped the weft of hair off of his side burn and held it out for him to see.

“Good fucking riddance.” He said as she tossed it to the floor.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Richie asked a little scared.

“It’s shorter than the rest.” She said, running her fingers softly around the rest of his hair. At the side of his head.

“Well then we should cut the rest down right? So it all matches?”

“I don’t want to agitate your scar, its still pretty fresh…” Bev said, and she was right. “Maybe I could try to fade it in…”

“Do whatever you think is right, I literally have no idea when it comes to that stuff…”

And it was true, because growing up, he never really had short hair, he always had a mess of curls, it was kind of his thing. Having long hair that was never ever really controlled, just kind of a floppy mess of black curls for most of his childhood, only recently becoming a more _tamed_ mess when Eddie pressured him into switching from two-in-one shampoo, now using shampoo and conditioner. A brand that Eddie had recommended to him that really actually made a difference on his hair. It was less frizzy now, and actually formed _curls_ instead of frizzy spirals that one could tell had once been curls.

“Wait… this actually looks cool as fuck.” Bev said, getting the hang of the clippers now and adjusting the length of the comb when needed as she sculpted his hair. Smoothing out the break between shaved hair and long, fading that into his hair as well.

“Maybe we should do the other side, like a mohawk.” Richie said partially joking, but honestly entirely down if she was.

It was Bev who approached him, asking if he wanted her to finally get rid of that damned _long sideburn_ that looked so fucking stupid. He looked like an elf that got into a fight with a werewolf. He agreed entirely, because he was bored out of his mind lounging on his cot in the living room, trying desperately to find something worth watching on the television.

“Okay that might actually be cool.” Bev said taking a step back and pushing back his hair on the right side of his head, mirroring the image on the left to get an idea of what it’d look like.

“Then lets fucking do it.” Richie said, chuckling a bit.

“I’m already excited about Eddie’s reaction.” Bev chuckled as well and started sectioning off the hair on the right side of his head. Richie honestly didn’t care _what_ hair style he had, as long as it wasn’t the stupid elvish one he had with the long fucking side burn anymore.

Bev was the type of person who was good at anything she tried, when they all had their skateboarding phase, she was the first one to get the hang of it, and she was the most artistic one in the group. She was obviously a _talented_ designer and had excelled in all of her fashion courses last semester. Richie would trust her to do anything to his hair, hell he’d probably even let her give him a tattoo if she wanted to.

That being said, it was usually Stan who cut his hair, he cut it a few times over the summer out on their porch, he and Eddie would kind of tag team it, making sure it was even and that all of the split ends were gone. It was nice not having to pay for a haircut.

“He’ll probably shit a whole brick.” Richie laughed.

Bev laughed too and tied the bit of hair on the right side of his head together with a hair-tie before fastening the hair that they wanted to leave untouched off to the side.

“Okay are you sure? I’m going to cut it off now…”

“Fuck yes I’m sure, you only live once right?” Richie said enthusiastically.

“Right.” Bev chuckled and used the clippers to shave off the ponytail of hair she had tied up.

She held the ponytail of hair out to him and they both started chuckling, Richie wasn’t even sure _why_ they started laughing, they just kind of did. It was just kind of like that with Bev, everything was fun and exciting when it was Bev and Richie together. Richie took the ponytail from her and wagged it in front of his face, his black fluffy curls forever cut away from his scalp tied together in a pink hair tie.

“We should hang this on the fridge.” Richie giggled as Bev worked on smoothing out the right side of his head to match the left.

Bev snorted into a chuckle. “Fuck yeah we should.”

“What…. _the fuck…_ ” Stan had crept into the room and now stood in the doorway.

“You want me to do you too?” Bev asked chuckling still.

Richie laughed too, just imagining Stan with a mohawk. With his button up shirts and khaki pants.

“No thanks.” Stan sighed.

“Suit yourself.” Bev shrugged.

“Eddie is going to faint.” Stan said, sounding a bit worried frankly. “And he’ll be home in like, thirty minutes.”

“Damn, that time already huh?” Richie said. “Time flies when you’re having fun I guess.”

“You look like a full time city bus driver who’s the lead singer of a Journey cover band at night.” Stan said.

Both Richie and Bev laughed _hard_ at that, because it was somehow true, with the beard and the hair cut he looked like a mess. Stan even chuckled too as he lent on the door frame.

“It’s the beard, once it’s gone, he’ll just look like the lead singer of a Journey cover band.” Bev clarified as she leant left and right to see if the side shaves matched up.

“Yeah you’re right.” Stan agreed.

Bev was satisfied with his hair, so she then got started on clipping away his beard, shaving away the hair on the lowest setting of the clippers.

A part of Richie thought it would be fun to keep a mustache, but then decided that it would be too much, at least at first. Plus, he was sick and tired of facial hair in general, it was itchy, and it was making it hard to sleep amongst other things.

It was pretty fast, shaving with the clippers, even though it wasn’t as close a shave as it was with a razor. He didn’t have a worry about getting cut and the shave was close enough for now at least. It left behind a sort of five o’clock shadow that Richie felt like he could deal with.

Stan had disappeared to get their broom and dustpan from the kitchen, and was back now to start cleaning up the mess of hair on the floor.

Richie felt so much better, having the hair off of his face, it felt like taking off a super itchy wool scarf, the constant annoyance of itchy hairs poking his face constantly. It took Bev _maybe_ all of five minutes to shave his face completely, and when she was done he ran a hand over it, as if to test the waters to see if it’ll be an itchy, which it wasn’t, and he was _relieved._

“Better?” Bev asked, because she had been the recipient of his complaining that morning.

“ _So much_.” Richie affirmed.

“You look good.” Bev reassured as she helped Stan to clean up the mess, using the little brush that came with Mike’s clippers to clean Richie’s hair out of them.

“Thanks a million Miss Marsh.” Richie said smiling up at her.

“No prob Bob.” Bev said, ruffling the hair at the top of his head.

They worked to get most of the mess cleaned up as Richie strained his body to see in the mirror. He didn’t look bad, that much was true. He also couldn’t decide if he looked good or not, because that was always a hard thing to determine about yourself. He liked the haircut, it was a cool fucking hair cut in the eyes of Richie Tozier, that’s for sure. Kind of a long, mohawk situation with his crazy curly hair, it was fun and Richie felt like he could relate to the haircut in that sense. It was different, and very much a _change,_ but he didn’t really mind it. He decided that he liked it and was excited to see what Eddie thought.

“Good?” Bev asked, who noticed Richie analyzing himself in the mirror.

“Yeah! I think its fun.”

“It sure is fun.” Bev agreed, offering her hands out now to help him stand.

Richie accepted her offer to help him up, and wobbled along with her to his wheelchair just outside of the room. She wheeled him out to his cot in the living room, and Richie managed to clamber onto the bed on his own, he really was getting better, feeling more and more himself with each passing day.

“Man, once you get that cast off its fucking _go time._ ” Bev said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean were going to fucking _jam_ again! You’re gonna flex those fingers and stretch out those tendons with some funky fucking tunes! Mr. Journey cover band lead singer!” Bev said as she draped herself over the armchair closest to Richie’s cot, facing him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, kind of somber because of his thoughts now. He was happy that Bev and… well, all of his friends really, had a lot of faith that Richie would be playing again someday like how he used to… but with how his arm felt right now, it didn’t seem likely. He could only squeeze the fucking stress ball three times before really feeling the intense burn of his tendons straining. He wasn’t very hopeful to say the least, all he was, was frustrated.

Richie tried to snort against his urge to frown, trying to acknowledge Bev without becoming too much of a downer.

“Oh, come on Richie… you’ll get there again I promise.”

Bev’s words were kind and comforting despite his doubts. He felt like he _knew_ he would never be what he used to be, but an ounce of him wanted to hold onto hope that maybe one day he could be there again. He used to feel like he was getting better and better every day, tackling songs played by the best guitar players in the world, following along as best he could to the music and keeping up pretty well. With a little bit of time and effort, he could play just about any song he wanted to. Now, though, he felt his heart race with frustration and resentment whenever he thought of playing the simplest songs he knew. It sucked, to say the least, it really did.

Richie only sighed and nodded his head. “Yeah, maybe someday.”

Even _with_ the ‘maybe’ he felt like he was telling himself a lie. He knew what Doctor Carter said, but he felt like none of it mattered. He’s lost all hope of playing again and being as good as he used to be. He almost didn’t see the _point_ in even trying again. He didn’t even have his cast off and he was already considering never touching his guitars again. Two of his most prized possessions.

His cardinal red Gibson challenger, man did he fucking love that piece of equipment. He’s spent countless hours with that guitar in his arms, playing along to his favorite tunes and making up some as he went along. On the body were doodles of band logos and the names of a few scrawled in black permanent marker, most of which in Eddie’s writing, because his was simply better in Richie’s opinion.

Then, his dark wood cutaway, that they all bought him for his birthday last year. That acoustic played beautiful rich tones that complimented all of his favorite folk songs. He loved to play outside on the porch on warm summer nights, with his feet kicked up on the table and Eddie at his side as he strummed his guitar and hummed along when a particular lyric to a song struck his fancy.

The memories were warm and comforting, his favorite hobby that didn’t involve others. A talent of his that he was proud of. There was a time in his life where he was happiest when he was playing his guitar, it was something he relied on when the times grew dark in his past. He _loved_ playing…

Bev only gave him a kind of smirked sigh. Richie smirked back at her, he knew she meant well, and frankly if it wasn’t for Bev and the others, he would have _zero_ faith in his urge to pick up the guitar again once his cast came off. He had an ounce, and that seemed to be enough for now.

Just as Richie was about to decide on reaching for the remote, or one of his puzzle books, the door opened, and Richie felt his ears and brain prickle with excitement. The feeling that Richie got when Eddie came home usually felt like that, all kinds of alert and joy, like a fucking golden retriever.

“Eddie-baby! How was work my love? How many tires did you sell? Did you get to talk to some old white guy about your favorite cars?” Richie asked in a sort of sing song voice as he lay back on the bed, to kind of gaze at him without having to turn around.

Eddie chuckled and kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat at the door, too busy putting them away in the closet to even look at Richie yet, who was just dying to see his honest reaction to his new look.

“Oh man do I have fucking _news_ for you Richie, you just fucking wai— _OH!”_

His face was surprise, but not bad surprise, a good surprise, with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk at the corner of his opened mouth.

Richie sat up so he was back to sitting on the edge of the bed. He shook out his hair a bit and ruffled the top of it like he usually did, feeling weird with a good majority of the sides gone now.

“How do you feel about the new and improved me? Curtesy of our in-home barber, Beverly Marsh.” Richie said, all kinds of dramatic, tipping his head around to model his hair for Eddie, who came over to sit down next to him.

“I think you look great!” Eddie chuckled. “The mohawk thing suits you.”

“Doesn’t it?” Richie agreed.

Bev stood up from the couch and gave a few bows, to which Eddie acknowledged with a light clap before she disappeared through the dining room. They heard the sliding glass door and Richie knew she was going out for a cigarette.

Eddie ran his fingers through Richie’s hair and smiled. “You really do look good.”

“Thanks Eds.” Richie said, awkwardly, because taking a compliment was always something he struggled with.

“How’re you feeling today? Did your leg give you any shit?” Eddie asked, pulling Richie’s right arm into a bit of a hug as he leaned to press his lips to his shoulder.

“I feel fine.” Richie said as he wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him into a proper hug and pressing his lips to his hair, all kinds of soft and fluffy, he smelled like car parts and chemicals alongside his usual scent of eucalyptus and lavender. All of the smells that now reminded Richie of his love. “What’s this about _news_ you’ve got for me?”

Eddie shifted in his arm and sat up a bit, fiddling with his ring as he spoke, a new habit of his. “Well… so you know how my manager has his own car detailing company?”

Richie wasn’t sure if he actually knew that information. “Sure, yes, I do now.”

Eddie chuckled a bit and shifted so he sat with his legs crossed facing Richie. “Well, I had a customer come in asking about shit like interior cleaning for his car and what products I’d recommend, so I ran through some of the best ones we carry and how he should use them. So, I check him out and he leaves, and then my manager comes up to me afterwards and he’s all like ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but would you want to start detailing cars for me?’”

Richie’s jaw dropped out of excitement. Eddie smiled a bit more and shifted in his seat, so he was closer to Richie.

“And you know, he _knows_ about everything that’s been going on and about how stressed out I’ve been… So, I obviously agreed, because how could I fucking _not,_ there’s good fucking money there, _and_ it would be a lot more fun than flipping through that damn engine oil book for the hundredth time in one day to figure out what fucking oil someone needs. So once this schedule finishes up I’m going to be detailing for him full time!” Eddie was fucking thrilled, and his excitement radiated like a fucking bonfire, his gleaming smile rubbed off on Richie who mirrored him in his own dorky fashion.

“That’s fucking _perfect_ for you!”

And it was! Eddie Kaspbrak was a fucking neat freak, who has been recorded on multiple occasions to verbally express that he actually _liked cleaning_ , Richie remembered each occasion vividly, because it fucking amazed him. Who the fuck likes cleaning? And how did he find cleaning’s two biggest fans in all of Maine to label as two of his favorite people in the whole world. Eddie Kaspbrak’s love for cleaning was second only to that of Stanly Uris.

Not only did Eddie enjoy cleaning, but he fucking _loved cars!_ Which _also_ used to amaze Richie, because who the fuck just… _likes cars._ But here was Eddie, at 6 years old sitting on his father’s lap as they thumbed through the latest edition of whatever car magazine had just come in the mail, Eddie pointing out cars he thought looked cool and his father telling him all about it’s insides. All about what _makes them great mechanically_. With time, Richie understood _why_ Eddie liked cars and it was something that always touched his heart.

“Yeah, I’m really fucking excited!” Eddie beamed and kind of bounced where he sat.

“So, what about your classes? How is that going to work out?” Richie asked, because the thought only just crossed his mind, Eddie did mention _‘full time’_ in his whole little excited speech.

“Oh yeah, I think I need to take at least the semester off… not just because of the new job, but because I want to be here with you, and I want to just calm down for a minute…”

Richie knew exactly what he meant by that. He had been so fucking stressed lately, obviously most of his stress was over Richie, but even before the accident Eddie had been highly considering telling his mother about their whole relationship. They had a few talks about it over the holidays, pondering the possible outcomes and responses. How loud they thought she might scream and what insults she may string together to throw at Richie. Because… frankly, she hasn’t liked him since she met him, and it used to bother Richie a lot, because he thought that Eddie would be influenced by her dislike, but that obviously wasn’t true, so now its just kind of an inside joke for all of them. It was really just Bev, Richie, and Mike that she despised, which was very fucked up and made Richie super pissed off if he thought about it too much.

He remembers a conversation they all shared one time, kind of bitching with Eddie about a recent phone call he had with her or a recent visit, he couldn’t remember now… but after the whole usual spew of Eddies frustrations with his mother he screamed _‘and on top of it all, she’s fucking racist!”_ Surprisingly, everyone could only laugh at that, because Sonia’s blatant homophobia and racism was so fucking far fetched and annoying that that’s all they really could do. It was almost comical how she could be so fucking discriminatory for absolutely no reason. It sure did take them a while to find the humor in it, but once they did, life was a little easier.

Now though, things were starting to kind of become, _less funny_ because Eddie wanted to tell his mom that he’s been in a romantic relationship with Richie fucking Tozier. The kid she would always mentioned with a scrunched up nose and squinted eyes, the kid who showed Eddie he wasn’t allergic to grass, and shared his peanut-butter sandwiches at lunch time. Hell, Richie even threw away his fucking EpiPen one day because it was becoming obvious he didn’t need it. And the cherry on top was that she thought that Richie was the one that _‘made Eddie gay’_ , because of how ‘ _gay’_ Richie was growing up. He remembered how that hurt his feelings a bit, because he simply couldn’t wear his fun clothes and bop around happily with his friends without Sonia fucking Kaspbrak stereotyping him. Sure, he’s had a crush on her child for as long as he could remember, and he _was_ a little gay… technically… but the accusation of _‘making her son gay’_ really weighed on his shoulders for a little while, it took just about a year for her to start ignoring him again, her glares and muttered insults behind her breath were getting tiresome.

But, in the end, she’s still Eddie’s mother. And Eddie wanted her to know at least, even if she would throw a fit and probably throw something. So, Richie was in support of the whole thing. Plus, it was kind of enticing that Eddie would risk it all, and tell his mother about how he’s been taking it up the ass by _“that dirty Tozier boy”_ for the last year.

“Plus, I don’t really know if I want to be a psychologist… the material is interesting and all, but I don’t know if it’s what I want to do forever…” Eddie said after a minute.

That kind of took Richie by surprise at first, and then he thought about it a bit. He couldn’t really see Eddie doing that as a career either, and it was a surprise when he said he wanted to major in psychology last semester. He, like Richie, was struggling to find a place to fit in terms of college majors.

“Oh… yeah I get that. That’s a lot of school and _a lot of pressure…_ ” Richie said, considering what it would really take to be a psychologist.

“Yeah, I kind of want to focus on us for a while, and this new job too, I’m so excited Richie, it’s going to be great.”

“You bet your pretty ass it is Spaghetti! I’ll play your housewife all semester until I can work again, wobbling around all day on my fucked up leg with an apron on, _just to have an apron on_. Maybe I’ll take up knitting, or I could teach myself how to sew buttons back onto your shirts.” Richie fantasized.

It was already set that Richie was taking the semester off, and up until now, you could say he wasn’t really looking forward to it. He wasn’t allowed to get a job for a few months yet, and it’s not like he really _wanted to do that_ anyway. He just wasn’t looking forward to being home alone all day, bored out of his mind. But now that Eddie wasn’t going to have classes, they could spend nights together, worry free about the stress of classes, going on dates and just spending time together.

“Jeez, I would like to see you try to fucking knit.” Eddie laughed.

“How hard could it be? My grandma used to do it with her eyes closed.”

“Well, it’s a rule that every grandma has to learn how to knit once they hit a certain age.”

“Yeah I think its just a talent that everyone is born with and it only comes out once you become a grandma.”

“Yeah that makes sense.” Eddie giggled and snaked his arms around Richie’s middle, Richie lay back to pull Eddie into a proper hug without having to strain his body too much.

They lay for a bit, Eddie with his head on Richie’s shoulder with his arms wrapped around him as Richie ran his arm along his back, it was nice just laying like this holding him.

“Apparently, the detailing business kind of took off last year and it’s been hard for him to keep up with everything. He runs it out of his garage that he’s got all hooked up with a pressure washer and shit.” Eddie said, collecting his thoughts and also informing Richie of all of the details.

“So, does he just have people come in with their cars? Like a super detailed car wash?” Richie asked.

“Well, that and he details for a few car dealerships around here.”

“Oh, so yeah he’s probably super fucking busy.”

“Yeah…” Eddie agreed with a bit of a chuckle. “I know he’s got a few guys that detail for him on days that he’s at the shop already.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Mhm…” Eddie agreed, with a content sigh.

“I’m happy for you.”

Eddie smiled his sweet smile up at him, all rosy cheeks and sparkly brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really short and honestly kind of boring compared to my other ones, so expect an update really soon! I wanted to write a super chill chapter of just Richie being kind of mellow, fucking around with his hair with Bev and Eddie getting his new job. Also, does anyone else watch those satisfying car detailing videos while they're trying to fall asleep? I fucking LOVE watching those!!! The detail geek on youtube is where it's fucking AT man...
> 
> Also, how do we feel about mohawk Richie!? I figured at one point in his life he should have a mohawk and he could honestly probably pull it off so why the fuck not! Right???


	7. Happy Birthday Sonia Kaspbrak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonia comes into town! It's all fun and dandy until Eddie fills her in on who he's been seeing for the past year.

Getting his fucking arm cast off was the weirdest feeling in the entire world. His arm felt like jelly, it wasn’t being held in place anymore with the cast so it was exposed to the world and could move freely now. He had it on for an entire month, a whole month without bending his wrist, and only being able to squeeze that dumbass stress ball. He felt weirdly naked without it too.

Everybody signed his cast of course, but what didn’t have their signatures and little messages, was covered in doodles made by a _very bored_ Richie, he kind of missed it in a way, and a part of him wanted to fucking _keep it_. But it had been Stan and Mike that had taken him to his appointment today, and Stan would never let him keep it in a million years because frankly, it _stunk_ and was all around really gross on the inside.

It had been Stan and Mike who took him because Eddie strangely enough… couldn’t. He usually had Fridays off from work, and his new schedule with the detailing gig was pretty consistent, but today, he randomly had to go in. He was strange about it too, he was going on about how they were apparently super busy at the garage, and needed someone to come in and do an entire detail on a car or two. Though that would have been super easy to explain, it took like an hour of questioning for Eddie to just tell him that, so Richie couldn’t help but be suspicious.

He just kind of assumed it was about Sonia coming into town that night. Last week had been Richie and Eddie’s official one year anniversary, but that also meant that it was Sonia’s birthday, and Eddie had promised her that he’d take her out for dinner.

She still was entirely unaware of his and Richie’s relationship, and Eddie has mentioned a few times that he wanted to tell her in person, tonight. Richie hoped that it wasn’t at dinner with just her and Eddie, sitting alone in some restaurant. He wanted to be there, not just to see her reaction, but to be there for Eddie.

Though Sonia sucked, she still was his mother, and Eddie still cared about her enough for her to be aware of what was going on in his life. The guilt of not telling her for a whole year was really catching up with him.

They were driving home from the hospital now, and Richie sat in the back seat, just kind of moving his wrist and wiggling his fingers, watching the way the tendons in his wrist and hand moved with them. It was strange moving his hand like that, and it almost made his stomach queasy to think about how just weeks ago, his bones were broken in two.

He tried his best to make a fist, it was loose and involved almost no muscle, so he wouldn’t really call it a fist. Holding that hand position wasn’t what really hurt, anymore at least, it was when he flexed into the position, making an _actual_ fist, squeezing his hand shut and triggering the muscles and tendons in his wrist. A flash of pain came then, what he knew to be his tendons scolding him.

They just wanted to be lazy there in his arm, content with not moving forever, getting used to the minimal use they’ve gotten over the past month, loving how they were being babied there in his arm, getting pissed off with the occasional squeeze of a stress ball of the press of a button on a remote. The tendons in his arm sure were a bunch of lazy bitches, whining and complaining about every straining movement.

He so desperately just wanted to be back to normal, to be able to do stuff with that hand again, fuck, to be able to just _do stuff_ again. This past month had been _torture…_ going from sitting in his bed to sitting in his wheelchair, to go to the bathroom and maybe hang in the dining room with whoever was in there. It was shitty and he felt guilty that he needed help with every little thing.

He was getting a little worked up about it, so he dropped his hands to his lap and decided to just gaze out the window for the remainder of the car ride home. He watched as buildings passed, and noted how nice the sunlight was. Being cooped up in the house was really taking a toll on his mental health, it didn’t take a psychologist to know that. He had been bored out of his mind and found himself relying on Eddie and his friends for fun and entertainment, which wasn’t normal for him.

“Hey, maybe we should all go out for lunch.” Stan said suddenly from the passenger’s seat. His tone of voice was weird, and Richie was very much confused, because how much of a pain in the ass was it about to be to get him into a fucking restaurant right now.

“Yes! Yeah, that’s a great idea!” Mike agreed, far more enthusiastically than Richie would have expected.

“But, why?” Richie asked, because he was honestly confused, it wasn’t really _like_ Stan to be spontaneous in general, and for Mike to be so excited about it was weirding Richie out.

“Just… because it’s good for you to be out of the house.” Stan said.

“Yeah, plus I’m starving.” Mike added.

“I mean if you two are down to push my ass through a restaurant, be my guest.” Richie said.

In the end, it went a lot smoother than Richie expected, because one of their favorite local diners had a wheelchair ramp and was just about completely empty. It was _weird_ being out of the house, and at a fucking restaurant. The feeling felt entirely foreign, and Richie kind of felt _jittery_ with excitement. He didn’t know where to begin, the thrill of being somewhere with a different smell, talking to _new people_ eating a freshly made greasy as hell cheeseburger that wasn’t reheated in the microwave.

And on top of all of that, there was the strangeness of being out of the house in his current physical state, with his entire leg in a cast with doodles and words scribbled all over it. His favorite doodle of all was his little hypothetical mayoral campaign on his thigh, a ‘pros and cons’ list of why stop signs should be rectangular, with a sketch to match. The idea made him giggle one day and he got a little carried away with the listing, sometimes he even added to it. Besides the cast, he wore bright orange basketball shorts and one sock, one of the cool bowling alley carpet design ones that Stan got for him two Christmases ago. He could just _feel_ people staring at him, but not even necessarily at his cast, but at the crazy scar on the side of his head. All he wanted to do was tell them _‘you should have seen it when it was fresh.’_

It was nice though, being out with Mike and Stan, the three of them never really got to do stuff together, and just fucking _talking_ to them in an environment that wasn’t their living room was nice. They talked about how much Mike was enjoying his fresh round of history courses, and how Stan enjoyed his statistics professor. It was nice hearing them talk about things they enjoyed; Richie loved seeing his friends happy. How when they got super excited about something they kind of sat up and talked with their hands and had a kind smile on their faces.

They were sure to tip their waitress well as they left, because people who didn’t tip their waiters were actual pieces of garbage in the mind of Richie Tozier. He’s never been a waiter, but he’s heard enough stories, and has enough common sense to tip waiters well.

They were home within the next half hour, and Richie was surprised to see Eddie lounging on the cot when they came in the door, because whenever Eddie had to detail a car, that shit apparently took upwards of eight hours, and he had only been gone for three or four. He was clean too; he didn’t smell or _look_ like he usually did when he just gets home from work now a days. Everything was weird, and Richie felt like something was up.

“It’s not like I’m not happy to see you or anything, but what are you doing home so early, Eds? Did ya get fired or somethin’?” Richie asked, as he clambered from the wheelchair into sitting on the cot next to him.

“No…” Eddie scoffed a bit, as if the idea of him getting fired was unbelievable, which it, kind of was. “Jeff just offered to finish up for me.”

Richie would never get over the fact that Eddie’s manager’s name was _Jeff_ it was such a stereotypical name for an old car dude, ever since Eddie has started working for him at his detailing garage they’ve been on a first name basis.

“That’s nice of him.”

Eddie nodded and flashed him a tight smile, rubbing his elbow a bit, a nervous tick that Richie has known Eddie to have for as long as he could remember. That and picking at his nails, and when matters grew worse enough, he would reach for his inhaler.

“You’re nervous.” Richie said, sitting up a bit to face him.

Obviously Eddie was fucking nervous. Sonia Kaspbrak was coming into town; the whole fucking _town_ should be nervous.

Eddie just chuckled and rolled his eyes, obviously Richie was correct in his observation, and Eddie was just trying to disregard him.

“We don’t have to tell her you know… or we can wait a bit longer if you want.” Richie tried to suggest, even though he knew what his answer would be.

“No… I just want to get it over with… and plus I feel like we have less of a chance of her throwing something at you if you’re all injured.”

“That’s a good point.” Richie chuckled, and the thought never really crossed his mind, but Eddie sure as hell was correct with his thinking.

Eddie laughed a bit too, a silent laugh behind a breath of air, it wasn’t really an honest laugh, more of a laugh you do when you’re trying to mask worry or negative feelings in general.

“How about this, lets close our eyes and imagine it’s like, eleven P.M., and everyone’s in bed for the night.” Richie closed his eyes and shimmied back into the cushion of the couch portion of the cot behind him.

He heard Eddie laugh behind his breath again and shift in his seat to do the same as Richie.

“Isn’t this nice? Everything is quiet, and we’re cuddling, or doing other shit, its totally up to you, but I vote fucking.”

_“Richie.”_

“What!?”

“Don’t talk about fucking at three in the afternoon.”

“Well what time is it decent enough for me to actually start talking about fucking?” Richie asked, opening his eyes now and turning his head to see Eddie glaring softly at him, he added a check of his invisible watch and a questioning shake of his head to emphasize his question.

“Oh shit! I can’t believe I didn’t notice!” Eddie just about screamed, sitting up quickly and crossing his legs to face Richie, lightly grabbing his left _un-casted_ arm, that he had just used to check his invisible watch on. “You see? This is what fucking stress does to me…” Eddie grumbled as he held Richie’s arm in his hands, kind of gently petting him and running the pad of his thumb lightly across the joint of his wrist.

“Its okay Eds, I kind of forgot for a second too.” Richie said, because he kind of _did._

“Does it hurt? Does it feel weird?”

“It doesn’t _hurt_ necessarily, but it’s weird being able to move my wrist and shit again.”

“Yeah, I know what you’re talking about, I remember when I got my stupid cast off.” Eddie agreed with a bit of a chuckle.

What a fucking _throw back_ that was… all the way back to when they were thirteen, Eddie with his cast, permanently bent at the elbow, defaced by Gretta Keene and later corrected by Eddie himself. He remembered how much Eddie constantly complained about the cast, how dirty he felt underneath it and how fucking _itchy_ it was. Richie understood all of his complaining now, feeling that if he were to have had the cast on for one more day he would probably start screaming.

“You hated that damned cast.” Richie commented, reminiscing.

“I sure fucking did… I hate your casts too.”

“God… me too… but I do have a pretty good thing going on this one, my campaign plans.” Richie said, using his free hand to tug at the fabric of his shorts to reveal the _‘pros and cons’_ list as well as the doodle for his _why stop signs should be rectangular_ fake campaign pitch.

“I still don’t fucking understand.” Eddie sighed, looking at Richie’s cast with an almost _hopeless_ expression.

“What’s not to understand? Pro, they look better, con, they’re kind of wimpier… pro, they’re probably easier to manufacture, con, they’re probably less wind resistant…” Richie ran his finger along with what he was reading on his cast.

“I don’t understand how it would be less wind resistant, also that’s subjective to say they’re wimpier.”

“And that’s why you’re my campaign manager.”

“I can’t be your campaign manager, isn’t that like a rule, the campaign manager can’t be in a relationship with the one running for office? Also, you’re not fucking running for office.” Eddie was kind of smiling at him now, along with his look of confused disbelief.

“Unless it’s a scandal, I would have a beard of a trophy wife, and we fuck in my office behind the scenes.”

“Stop talking about _fucking_ at three in the afternoon!” Eddie said through laughter, covering Richie’s mouth with one of his hands.

Richie laughed and licked his palm, because he was a twelve year old at heart.

“Eww, Richie you have no idea where my fucking hand has been.” Eddie said, whipping his palm on Richie’s shirt, cleaning off the saliva as best he could.

“Hopefully somewhere in your pants.” Richie said, in kind of a muffled grumble, because he knew he shouldn’t be saying it, but he just couldn’t help it. Eddie fucking set him up for that one.

Eddie just closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head a bit.

Richie fell into a fit of laughter, a habit he had that carried over from childhood with Eddie, annoying him to the point of honest frustration growing up. His younger self found the whole thing entirely hilarious, how Eddie would be completely bewildered as to how to go about _dealing_ with Richie when he was like this. Now though, it was kind of just Eddie giving up on trying to lead the conversation anywhere, vowing momentary silence and depriving Richie of even a look with his opened eyes.

His laughter ended up being a bit contagious though, because Eddie then kind of fell into his own chuckle, it was honest and vocal, and Richie was happy to hear it. Eddie was stressed about tonight after all, and laughter _was_ the best medicine.

Richie fell from his laughter a bit and used his now free, un-casted left hand to cup Eddie’s face, kind of exploring the concept of intimacy with it, testing the waters to see if he could still love Eddie with his fucked up arm. He was growing used to the feeling of having his mobility of that arm back, and was dying to test how easily he could swipe a thumb across his lips, or even how it would feel to curl his fingers into his hair, or even just _push it out of his face._ So that’s what he did.

Eddie’s face was still a bit struck with joy from his laughter as Richie combed his fingers through the front of his hair and pushed it up and out of his face, he felt the soft waves drag through his fingers, and barely felt a strain in his hand and wrist from the action. Eddie smiled at him sweetly then, his cheeks a bit blushed and his deep brown eyes carrying a bit of a twinkle.

“Tonight is going to be fine… okay? And besides, I need some drama, I’m bored as hell.” Richie said, and though his words weren’t necessarily sweet, his voice was, carrying a light cadence that could make the most vulgar of lines sound like he was talking to a four week old puppy.

“We don’t need any more drama…” Eddie chuckled a bit. “I think we’ve had enough drama in the last two months for a lifetime.”

“I mean I guess that’s true…” Richie agreed, nodding a bit.

Eddie chuckled behind his breath and smiled at Richie softly. They’ve been through so much, for Eddie it was probably hell and back, and for Richie, it sure as hell was a variation of that. Eddie had no business having to go through such trauma, he was strong and brave, and he could handle it, but he shouldn’t have to. Richie felt bad about it every day.

Eddie’s lingering gazes on the scar at the side of his head or one of his casts was a constant reminder of the pain they both felt, but especially Eddie’s. A pain that he shouldn’t have had to experience. Richie thought that at the beginning of their relationship they had a lot to make up for, but now he had _so much debt._ Debt that he owed to Eddie, he suspected it’d take a lifetime to pay it off. He had to make up for it all, he felt sorrow and guilt over the whole ordeal and felt that he owed Eddie a billion hugs, a billion kisses… a billion nights together just to help him forgive himself.

Richie sighed and snuggled back into the pillows of his cot. Gazing up at Eddie with his hand now on his thigh, Eddie took it, gently because it was the one that had previously been casted, but he took it none the less. His thumbs ran back and forth against the back of his hand, a soft feather light touch that Richie felt soothed by.

A yawn crept up on him then, and he realized that this was usually the time he fell asleep for a nap, because spending just about your entire day in bed for almost two months caused you to take far more naps than a normal person would. That, on top of the fact that he left the house today, and frankly, that alone was exhausting now.

He drifted off to sleep, to the feeling of Eddie holding his hand, a bit tender and sensitive from going so long without physical contact, being soothed so gently by his sweet touch.

* * *

“I really _don’t_ want to watch that movie…” Bev groaned from her spot on Richie’s cot, who was instead seated on one of the armchairs, currently suggesting movies to watch while they waited for Eddie to come home from dinner with Sonia.

“Why not? _Psycho_ is like one of the best movies of _all time!”_ He groaned.

They were debating on what to watch, because it was getting late, and they’ve finished dinner and what else do you do when you can’t really _do_ anything.

“It just gets so _boring_ after she dies, I fall asleep every time we watch it.”

“ _Boring!?”_ Richie gasped. “Oh man… that’s when it’s just getting _started!”_ Richie raved about _Psycho_ frequently.

He loved how interesting the making of the movie was, and respected the measures that Alfred Hitchcock went to in order to prevent his audience from getting the twist ending spoiled for them. He thought the movie was exciting and interesting, and was a tipping point for the genre of horror in its daring to push boundaries that had existed up until that point. How artistically, Hitchcock pushed them _just hard enough_ to make an impact on the industry and to still have a successful film.

“You know… I think I just don’t want to watch a horror movie.” Bev said, sounding as if she wasn’t too sure about her discovery. She was pretty tired from doing school work all day. She was in the thick of her major now, and the mental toll was getting to her.

“Okay… then how about _Ferris Beuller?_ ” Richie suggested, running through his list of favorites at this point.

“We watch that _all the time_ …” Bev groaned.

She was right, it was one of Richie’s most frequented VHS tapes, and he was sure he could mouth along to all of the lines by now. It was a favorite for sure, and in his mind, never got old.

“We do…” He sighed.

“How about—” Richie was about to suggest _The Breakfast Club_ , but was cut off by the front door opening.

He was surprised, until he noticed that the time was around eight o’clock, and realized he should have been expecting their arrival. Eddie and his mother, Sonia had come into the house. Richie was shocked to see her here, so out of place… hell, he couldn’t remember a time he’s seen her in anyone’s house but her own. Sure, she’s gone to book clubs, and to her sister’s house, which Richie has heard from Eddie how much of a _thrill_ that always was…

To see her standing on one of their outrageous rugs, bought second hand from their local Goodwill was just… strange. To know that she was about to learn about an aspect of her son’s life that may very well cause her to fall into a cardiac arrest, _while_ possibly standing on one of their outrageous rugs was just a concept that Richie couldn’t really fathom to be true until today. He hasn’t seen the woman in a year, and to see her again in his own house was pretty strange.

Eddie, looked to be a nervous wreck, shoving his keys into his pocket and taking Sonia’s coat and shoes for her, lining her shoes by the door and putting her coat in the closet. She thanked him in a way that was so overly kind, Richie felt a little strange about it.

He’s never really _hated_ Sonia, but he’s never really liked her either. This was mostly because _, she’s always hated him_ , frequently shooting slurs and insults his way. Not very much when they were younger, but as they grew, they were more and more frequent. As Richie grew into himself, learning to play his guitar, wearing the clothes he felt most comfortable in, spewing jokes he thought were hilarious… she hated him more and more.

Eddie walked her into the living room, Bev gave Richie a look as if she was just as surprised as him, and it was understandably so.

“Mom, you of course know Bev and Richie…” Eddie referenced them in their respective seats.

“Hi Mrs. K.” Bev gave a bit of a wave.

“How’s it going Sonia? Derry treating you well?” Richie asked, as kindly as he could muster, to the point where it may sound fake to those who really knew him.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your accident.” She said, in no way replying to either of his obnoxious questions, and that was understandable.

“Me to Mrs. K, me too…” Richie sighed, settling back into his seat, running his hands along the arms of the chair, being all dramatic and comical.

Bev silently giggled and shook her head at him from where he saw her behind Sonia and Eddie in front of him. He smirked at her and Eddie worked desperately to move his tour of the house along.

“And through here, is our dining room, though we use it a lot for studying... Richie calls it the library sometimes.” Eddie said, as he led her through the living room.

Eddie barely glanced at him, and Richie kind of expected that, because of how nervous he was. How desperately did Richie want to just spring up from his seat and tug him lightly by the wrist to a place where it was just the two of them. He could calm his nerves with a kiss on a cheek and reassurance that everything was going to be fine. That they had each other, and they had their friends, and that was all they really needed. He wished he could do those things, but he can’t… so all he could do is lean forward in his seat and run his fingers through his hair nervously.

Bev sat up in the cot and moved so she sat on the side of it. Obviously alerted by the company and Richie’s change in demeanor.

“Dude, why is she here?” Bev asked, in a soft whisper.

Richie licked his lips and lent towards her a bit more. “He’s going to tell her about us.”

Bev’s mouth hung open in shock. “ _Really!?”_

Richie nodded his head, and he was sure to keep his face serious, because so often it was that he joked about things like this.

“Damn… fuck the movie this’ll be entertaining enough.” Bev joked.

Richie laughed a bit, because she was right. Richie had _not a clue_ how Sonia was going to react to the news, if he wasn’t injured he knew there was a chance of her possibly throwing something, but now who’s to say. She _may still_ throw something at him… despite his massive cast and huge scar. There would be name calling, and probably a lot of discrimination, and ignorance for sure. He was almost curious to see now, and it was probably only partially to do with boredom.

“So where do you sleep?” He heard Sonia ask, as they came down the hallway that lead from the kitchen back into the living room, past the stairs to the basement as well as the stairs to the second floor.

“Uhm… just… just down in the basement, but we don’t have to go all the way down there, it’s nothing special…” Eddie said, leading them instead back to the living room. Richie saw now how red his face was, and how tousled his hair had been, he must have been running his fingers through it all this time. He left the house with a notable composure to his hair, now it was growing into that adorable wavy mess that Richie usually loved, but now it just made him nervous, because of how nervous he knew _Eddie_ was.

“You have the whole basement to yourself?” She asked.

Fuck.

“Well… no, I share it with Richie…” Eddie said. His voice sounded a bit more confident now, and he led the way to the couch across the room from Richie’s current seat at one of the armchairs. Bev kind of followed their movements with her face of curious fear.

Richie caught a glimpse of Bev’s expression and kind of snorted with laughter, because it was a reaction he usually had with nerves. When he got nervous, bored, scared, pretty much any sort of feeling honestly, he just _had_ to laugh about something. It was a habit that’s got him into trouble pretty much all his life, now was one of those times.

“What’s so funny?” Sonia asked Richie, her tone was kind of demanding and cold.

“Oh, uh nothing….” Richie said, and just as he did, he realized that Sonia had thought he was laughing about what _Eddie said_. “Not about the basement thing, or anything, something completely unrelated and not about the fact that Eds and I share the basement. Just something that Bev—uh… said earlier…” He couldn’t really keep up with the words as they flooded from his mouth, he stumbled over them and had to save himself from saying anything that hinted at the fact that Bev was making a face then.

Sonia kind of stared at him with furrowed brows and a questioning expression, she obviously wasn’t buying what he was selling, because it really did sound like bullshit, even though it mostly wasn’t. Behind her, Eddie sighed deeply and closed his eyes, obviously aware that Richie was digging himself a grave trying to cover his laughter with an explanation.

“Okay… okay let’s all just—” Eddie waved his hands in front of him. “ _Stop_ … for a second.”

All three sets of eyes looked to him.

“Mom… listen okay, Richie and I share the basement because we’re together.” Eddie said, so fast and so _firmly_ that it sounded like a demand.

 _“What!?”_ Sonia exclaimed, she was obviously taken aback, she even dramatically clenched the fabric of her tracksuit over her heart. “Never would I have _ever_ expected _THIS to happen!_ ”

Richie bit the inside of his cheek, if he laughed more now he would be a fucking _dead man._

“What has he done to you? What did he say to you? He was probably smothering you… and you got confused, yeah… is that what happened Eddie? Was he saying all those dirty things to you?” She was clinging to the fabric of his shirt sleeve as she spoke, it was so fucking _dramatic_ that Richie thought he was watching a soap opera.

“Mom _NO!_ ” Eddie tugged himself free of her grasp. “I was the one that started it, I told him I was in love with him and he told me he loved me back, its not all _fucking dirty_ or whatever you said.” Eddie’s voice was starting to get that familiar jumbled ramble he fell into when his brain was working too fast. “Look he even got me a fucking ring.”

He held out his right hand for his mother to closer inspect the yellow gold, ruby ring. It was a beautiful ring, that cost Richie a pretty penny, that was for sure, but he didn’t really care about the cost, because the ring was perfect for Eddie and he knew he would love it. He did too, there where times when Eddie was sitting at the dining room table, not really paying attention to the work in front of him, admiring the ring on his finger with a cute, soft little smile on his face. Or when he was lounging on the couch with a book, basking in sunlight and growing bored of the text in front of him, instead gazing at the glimmering ruby and moving his hand around to watch how it glistened in the sun. It was precious, those moments… and Richie was always reassured he made the right choice when he caught Eddie in the act.

“That looks fake… and tacky.”

Eddie gasped and pulled his hand away.

“Okay, well I’ll have you know that that hunk of metal with a genuine ruby mined from Madagascar, is eighteen karat yellow gold.” Richie clarified.

“And I like it a lot.” Eddie added, his face was bright red and _notably mad,_ his brows were so furrowed that Richie thought that they would meet somewhere in the middle of his eyes soon.

Sonia didn’t know what to say so she just ignored Eddie’s glare and sat up in her seat a bit. “If only Bill liked boys… you would have no problem finding a nice boy to date…”

“Mom, Bill _does like boys…_ ”

Richie couldn’t hold back his laughter then, and he noticed the way Bev bit her lip to hold back her own laughter.

“He’s _bisexual._ ” Eddie said. “And I am in love with fucking _Richie_ not Bill.”

“You two just aren’t matched! Eddie, he’s dirty! He’s not the type of guy you want to be with, who knows what could happen to you Eddie.”

“I’m _right here!”_ Richie said, still kind of laughing because of how outrageous everything she was saying was.

“Mom you’re insane! What the fuck does that even _mean!?”_

“I just want you to be safe Eddie! What happens when he gives you something! That disease Eddie, that disease you people get when you’re intimate.”

Richie’s jaw dropped.

Eddie was overcome with such rage, that his chest started heaving. Richie has never really _seen_ Eddie this mad, but he’s heard him this mad for sure. That party so long ago, when Richie was knocked to the ground and beaten by Eddie’s ex that he hadn’t thought of for _months…_ he couldn’t see much, but he sure as hell heard the way Eddie shrieked then, and he knew it was coming.

“Absolutely not! No fucking way are you going to sit there and spew a bunch of bullshit like that!” Eddie stood up and stomped to the middle of the room. “He doesn’t have fucking _AIDS_ or _HIV_ or whatever fucking disease you are referring to, he is healthy! And so am I! We have been fucking _‘intimate’_ too many times to fucking count!” Eddie imitated Sonia’s phrasing with air quotes.

“He is the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me, and you are not just going to sit there and call him fucking _dirty!_ ”

“Eddie, this is what happens when you leave! You forget about all of the risks that come with being who you want to be! I just want what’s best fo—”

“No! Do not fucking continue with whatever you were about to just say, I’m sick of that shit.” Eddie interrupted her. “If you don’t like the fact that I’m with him you could just fucking get out. I’m not depriving myself of happiness so you can fucking sleep at night.”

Bev covered her mouth with her hand, and Richie felt like doing the same because Eddie sounded so fucking powerful then it was insane, it sent _chills_ up his spine and across his scalp.

“Don’t do this Eddie, you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re not thinking straight! Eddie he’s changed you!”

“I said cut it out!” Eddie shrieked and stomped his foot on the ground, overcome with such frustration and rage. His fists were clenched at his sides and his shoulders formed a square with how stiff they were then, Richie could even see his shoulder blades at the back of his shirt, he was that fucking tense.

Sonia was understandably taken aback, pressing her lips into a tight line and looking at different spots on the ground as if for an explanation.

“I need you to leave… I’ll call you tomorrow, just—right now I need you to leave.” Eddie said.

Sonia listened. She stood dramatically with a forced sigh of frustration, shouldering her purse as she passed Eddie in the living room. They all kind of watched as she retrieved her coat from the closet and stepped into her shoes, leaving the house and slamming the door on her way out.

“Wait, how is she going to get home?” Bev asked a bit confused.

“She fucking drove.” Eddie sighed and covered his face with both of his hands, the stress left his shoulders and escaped through a sob he’d obviously been holding back.

“Hey, hey, hey, Eds wait come here.” Richie tried, leaning forward a bit to reach for him but he was just out of range.

Eddie cried a bit more and fell into sitting on the edge of the cot next to him, he kept his hands over his face and bent to rest his elbows on his knees. Bev crawled down the bed and sat next to him. Richie was having no part in not being right next to Eddie when he was upset, so he stood up as best he could, and hopped on his single leg over to sit next to him on his other side. He paid no mind to the pain of his knee with each hop, or the way that the edge of his cast kind of dug into the skin of his thigh. He needed to be next to him, he needed to hold him.

Just as he sat down next to him, Ben snuck out of the master bedroom, and Bill, Stan, and Mike crept down the stairs. They had obviously listened in on the whole thing, for how shaken up their expressions were.

Richie turned a bit towards Eddie, giving him his full attention, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Eddie inhaled sharply in response, it was fast and his breath kind of hitched at the end of it. He was really worked up, and it was understandably so. Richie had expected Sonia to be a disaster in different ways than she was, she never really expected her to come out and say such vulgarities in front of them, in front if _Richie._

It was overwhelming to think that she honestly believed that Richie would give Eddie AIDS somehow, it was repulsing, and Richie felt that he could really hate her now. For putting Eddie in such a place like this… and for what? All he wanted was to fill his mother in on his whereabouts, tell her that he got a cool new job, and that he was happily dating Richie. Now, here he was, on the verge of an anxiety induced asthma attack sobbing in Richie’s arms.

Bev comfortingly rubbed Eddie’s back, and Bill chaotically searched the kitchen for what Richie assumed to be Eddie’s inhaler. He caught Stan’s gaze and pointed over Eddie’s shoulder to the bedside table, he knew that at least one of Eddie’s inhalers was in it’s drawer. Stan nodded and dug through it a bit until he found the light blue device and handed it to Richie, who took it with his left hand, because his dominant right was too busy holding Eddie. He held the inhaler as firmly as he could, and shook it as hard as he could, trying his best to avoid the pierce of pain that usually came when he strained the tendons in his arm to much. His efforts were seemingly for not though, because his wrist still stung with pain, he tried his best not to wince, and popped the cap off with his teeth, an action that was basically muscle memory at this point.

So often has he helped Eddie through these asthma attacks, in times when he was too panicked or anxious or simply just… _not there_ enough to really focus on medicating himself. It was always Richie who was at his side as fast as he could be there, fishing his inhaler out of Eddie’s pocket, or in the earlier days, his fanny pack, shaking it a few times because he’s seen Eddie do that a thousand times, and triggering it in his mouth. He always felt a sense of relief watching Eddie’s shoulders rise with the inhalation of his medication.

Now, however, he passed the device to his good hand, tragically removing it from its spot around Eddie’s shoulders. He lightly pulled one of Eddie’s hands away from his face and stuck the inhaler in his mouth, triggering it in time with one of his breaths. Eddie’s shoulders rose with his deep inhale, and he brought his own hand to the inhaler to administer himself another when he felt ready. Richie let his arm drape around his shoulders again, and pulled him close to his chest, pushing his hair away from his forehead and kissing into his hair before pulling him into his chest completely.

Eddie, in desperation to be held and comforted, scoot closer to Richie, and wrapped his arms around his middle. He buried his face into the crook of his neck and let himself be rocked and comforted by Richie and Bev.

It was always rough for Eddie with his mom. Anyone with a brain, could have one conversation with Sonia and in turn worry about her son. She wasn’t normal, she was borderline dangerous. She dealt with her own mental battle, stemming from sometime after Eddie’s dad passed, in which she’d worry to the point of almost debilitation. She would constantly convince not only herself, but doctors, surgeons, even _Eddie_ that he suffered with things that he should be medicated for, hospitalized for, hell he should even get _surgery_ for.

She fed him lies about the world from such a young age, convinced him that being gay was wrong, and that some people should have privileges and certain rights that others shouldn’t. Just about every aspect of Eddie’s childhood with her was fucked up. But in the end, she was his _mother…_ and he couldn’t help but care for her. She was the only real family he had left.

Eddie’s cries faded from a sob to a sniffling with the occasional deep breath against the skin of Richie’s neck. The rest of their found family settled into various seats in the living room, in times like this they all knew they needed to be together. They were so deeply ingrained into each other’s lives, foreign was the idea of dealing with emotion alone.

“So… that was interesting.” Richie said after what felt like forever. The minutes in which Eddie cried, felt like an eternity, seeing such a pretty face and soul weep with such distraught frustration made the clock drag on.

“No… it fucking wasn’t.” Eddie groaned, in a broken kind of voice that was so far from its usual cadence.

Bev smirked at Richie, he was happy she was there for the whole ordeal, he loved that about her, hell he loved that about all of them, they were just… _always there._


	8. Check, Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big day for Richie Tozier.

It’s been a month since Sonia’s visit. Eddie hasn’t called her, and she hasn’t called him all the same. It took Richie a while to decide of that was bad or not… there were times when he felt that maybe Eddie should give her a call, just to say he did. But ultimately he would decide against it, because Eddie was happy, and when he thought of Sonia, or _that night…_ he wasn’t, and Richie was never one to want to tear a smile away from that beautiful face.

And besides, these past few days have been great. Spring was officially here, and with it came a momentous occasion. Richie Tozier finally got his fucking leg cast off. Yesterday to be exact.

Eddie and Bill had been the ones to take him to his appointment on this fateful Wednesday morning, they drove him up to the hospital and helped him through the doors on his wheelchair for the last time. Because once his cast was off, he was upright again, standing on wobbly legs, shuffling along a railed wall with the help of a physical therapist. Eddie and Bill were beaming at him the whole time, elbowing each other and sharing looks of thrilled excitement, because Richie Tozier was on the fucking _move._

It didn’t really take him long to get the hang of it again, though it did feel _really fucking different._ When you _could_ walk, you didn’t really think about it, and a good part of him expected it to kind of be like that. The doctors pieced his leg back together, and it should work like a normal fucking leg, right?

Wrong.

He couldn’t unbend his knee without a feeling of numb pain, what he found out later to be arthritis. Damn, to be twenty one years old and diagnosed with arthritis, that’s pretty cool. He was to have flair ups, though they weren’t anything that should stick around for long periods of time, unfortunately though, it was something he was to deal with for the rest of his life.

Besides the knee pain, the rest of his leg felt like a fucking _noodle,_ not moving for over two months could really do that to you. He couldn’t really focus on how his leg felt, because of the pain in his knee, but he knew he felt _something_ , which was understandable because he had fucking metal in his leg.

But besides all of that, he was walking… though it was a weird, half step, half tip-toe sort of walk, he was walking none the less, and he was fucking _thrilled._

That night was great too, he drank and had fun with his friends, laughing, yelling, singing, and even dancing a bit. His concussion was long gone, so it was technically okay. But Eddie was a bit upset about the whole thing at first, and decided that he wasn’t going to drink, _‘in case_ someone _has to go to the hospital.’_

The night ended up being fine, and entirely safe. He didn’t drink that much, he had _maybe_ three drinks all together over the span of a good amount of time, so he didn’t feel much from the alcohol. He didn’t really _have_ to drink to feel a buzz, because he was buzzed off of the thrill of being able to walk to the fucking bathroom by himself. And though Eddie made a fuss at first, he still danced with Richie and giggled at his drunken jokes.

Despite being able to sort of _walk_ now, Richie and Eddie spent the night on the cot again. For Richie it was partially the _routine_ of sleeping in the middle of their living room at this point. Having done it for two months now. But it was mostly because he didn’t want to go in the basement yet, there was just too much to unpack down there. His music, for one.

His guitars, his equipment, splayed out for the world to see as soon as you got down the stairs. He had been reminded of it each time Bev would play a tune on her keyboard down there, hooking it up to the amp and unknowingly torturing Richie with the urge to crawl down the stairs and play along. And he knew that he couldn’t… at least not yet. He instead just squeezed at his stupid stress ball and damned his fucked up tendons.

However, most of his waiting had been for the fact that he wanted it to be a _moment._ Because he was fucking dramatic, and that basement meant the world to him. It was his and Eddie’s space. A place so intimate and magical, a place where they could do whatever the fuck they want however loud they wanted. Anything from fucking, to screaming the lyrics to some dance tune that Eddie liked. It was the heart of the house in his eyes, it was where all of the love leaked from. It was where the music blasted, it was where he and Eddie were alone.

Now, though, he was walking into the kitchen, deciding to do so just as he woke up, just because he could. With some support of a crutch tucked into the pit of his left arm, but walking none the less. Bev was in there, sitting on the counter, gazing out the opened window in her robe, sipping a cup of coffee. She looked like a picture straight out of one of those magazines that tweens read with the series of band photoshoots with passages about their latest album. In other words, she somehow looked bad ass for doing something so minimal, but he figured that was just Bev.

“Well good morning sunshine, you up for that morning jog today or what?” Bev said cheerfully behind her mug.

He was pretty sure it was just her and Bill home, both of them somehow had Fridays off of their schedules, Bev’s was with intention to have time for her never-ending fashion homework, and Bill’s was just because he could. Eddie had woken him up with a goodbye kiss that morning, sometime around seven, he wasn’t really sure. All he knew was that Eddie had left for work after his morning jog and would be back sometime around four or five, because detailing cars took fucking _forever._

“Yeah, for sure.” Richie teased, and leaned on the counter next to her, catching a whiff of that fresh spring breeze, the dew on the grass evaporating away leaving that glorious scent behind.

Spring was his favorite season, and not because it was when he and Eddie got together, or because his birthday was somewhere in there, he just always felt… _good_ in the spring. He liked that by the end of it the sun was officially out for longer, and that he could leave the house without putting on a coat. He liked that it wasn’t too hot, but it wasn’t really cold either. He liked that you could open the windows in the house, and in the car. He still even got that childish feeling of school letting out soon, despite the fact that he wasn’t even taking classes himself.

Bev ruffled his hair before hopping off the counter, retrieving the cream and sugar from the cupboard and fridge and placing it closer to Richie and the coffee machine. He loved that she could read his mind. _And_ he loved that he could finally pour his own fucking cup of coffee. It was empowering, picking his own mug, and dumping those three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and _way_ too much creamer into it. He liked that he didn’t have to prop himself up on his elbows from a horizontal position to take his first sip. He could do it fucking standing now.

He took a second to admire the way the sunlight danced in the fog in their backyard. The light dancing similarly to how it did in an old dusty room. Sun rays beaming through the trees, still bare from the winter, though seemingly happier now that the sun was warm again. He caught the way that the dew glistened on the grass a bit, and how the birds chirped along to the whole thing, camouflaged in the trees.

“Damn.” He said out loud. Because something as simple as looking at spring through a window was something he didn’t realize could be so great. He didn’t realize he had taken it for granted, when standing meant nothing, and he wouldn’t even pay it a glance in passing.

Bev came up behind him and swiped her hand across his back a few times. She didn’t have to speak, because she was a mind reader, and knew everything he was feeling.

He took a deep breath and another sip of coffee, warm liquid that some may argue was too sweet, comforting him from the inside, combating the slight chill he felt in front of the opened window.

Never in his life did he think a morning could look so beautiful, because he had never stopped to appreciate it before. He had a new appreciation now, for just about everything. Because death, even if it’s just for a moment, makes you appreciate more. And immobility, makes you _notice_ more.

Bev kissed the back of his shoulder, and left him alone in the room, and it struck an alarm in his brain at first, because he wasn’t used to being alone in a room that wasn’t the bathroom or the living room. It struck that alarm until he realized that now, he could be alone. He could be alone with his thoughts in a room that didn’t have a bed or a toilet. He could appreciate in privacy, he could drink his cup of coffee, and toast a piece of bread on his own. And he did it all with a smile on his face, and a tuned ear to the song that the birds sang outside that opened window.

* * *

His first full day of mobility had been great so far. He even got the hang of walking around without a crutch, he had been wobbling around the night before a lot, but it wasn’t really _walking_ , more-so limping on a tip-toed foot and never forcing his knee into a straightened position. Now though, he was kind of, sort of, _walking_ … and it was amazing.

A good part of him wanted to call up Doctor Carter, tell him how excited he was, and how much he thanked him for it. He was a great Doctor through this whole thing, every decision he made in that chaotic twelve hour span was thoroughly considered despite it being literal hammer time. How he never lost hope in Richie, despite having three seizures in front of him and flatlining twice, he still gave him a chance, and though that chance was slim, Richie really took it and ran with it.

Soon, he thought to himself, he could _actually_ be running. Though he was just walking through the hall leading to their kitchen, with his hands on either wall, he saw potential in his abilities. His leg was _technically_ fully healed, just stiff. He had been told to keep it moving, but not too much, to keep stretching, but not to overdo it. He had to listen to his body, which was a foreign concept to Richie, at least up until the accident. He was never one to take a pain killer, or to bandage a wound, he would just ignore whatever it was until someone else brought it up. It’s not that he didn’t care about himself or anything, he just would be too focused on whatever else was going on.

Now though, there wasn’t _enough_ to focus on, so he really learned a lot about himself. How that he could do thirty sit-ups before feeling like he would die if he did another. He also learned that he was _really_ fucking good at sudoku, having worked through just about the whole book Stan had got him, and was working through the advanced puzzles now. He could be good at other things than just playing the guitar, but _man_ did he fucking _miss_ playing his damned guitar.

It was to the point where if he thought about it for too long, he’d start to get teary eyed, or he’d even start to crave a cigarette. He fucking loved playing music. To think that it could really just be gone from his life for good, was stressful. It hurt, because that was his art, that was how he expressed himself, that was his outlet. Bev has her fashion, Eddie has his cars, and Bill has his writing, and Richie has… well, _had_ his music.

It was to the point where even _listening_ to music too much really got to him, appreciating it, tuning his ears onto one of the instruments or focusing on the poems in the lyrics. Playing it was something else. Playing the music, really picking apart a song and feeling what the artist felt while writing it, dissecting eight bars of the piece into chunks he could memorize on his fingers. Getting a piece up to tempo and feeling comfortable enough with it to recline and let the music dance on his fingers, echoing through the body of his acoustic, or beaming though the speaker of his amplifier to expose to the hearing world everything that the piece felt. At times it was exciting, at other times it was relaxing, but it was always something he enjoyed. He mourned the loss of his ability to play. He mourned that piece of himself that he took for granted.

He walked back through the hall of the kitchen, to sit on his cot, his knee felt a little sore anyway, and he felt that that was enough movement for now. The last thing he wanted to do was _overdo_ it and ruin everything. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did overdo it, but he didn’t want to find out.

For something to do, he opened the drawer of the side table, seeing all of the tapes that Ben had put inside back when Richie first came home. His favorites, his go-to tapes, the stuff he used to play all the time. Not just on a stereo, but on his guitar. The stuff that almost _frustrated_ him to listen to now.

He kind of dug through the tapes a bit, feeling a bit dramatic about the whole thing, hating that he couldn’t appreciate the music like he used to anymore. He had no plans to pop any of them into his Walkman, he just liked looking at them, he felt like that was enough. Because looking at them reminded him just enough of the feeling he got listening to them, but it wasn’t enough to crave that feeling of playing them.

“Hey Richie, can I ask you something?”

Bill’s voice came as a bit of a surprise, because he knew that he was working in the dining room/library, just a little ways away from his cot, but he didn’t think he was looking at him, or paying him any attention at all for that matter.

“What’s up Big-B?” Richie said with a smirk.

Bill tossed whatever book he had been skimming for an English class to the table and stood up from his seat, only to walk into the living room and sit in the armchair across from Richie. His heart sank a bit, because he knew that the question that Bill had wasn’t a little one.

“Can you teach me how to play the guitar?” Bill asked seriously, leaning forward in his seat a bit without an ounce of a smirk on his face.

Richie couldn’t help but sigh, mostly in frustration, because what the fuck Bill?

He was a little annoyed at the question, and was frustrated with the fact that this was probably a plan. It was probably a whole scheme to get Richie to pick up his damn guitar again, and he knew he would just embarrass himself and become even more frustrated with the whole situation.

“What, is this some sort of plan? Is this some sort of thing you all worked out to get me to play again? You want me to try and play so I can become even more pissed off about this whole thing?” Richie asked, frustration spilling through his voice as he referenced his left hand.

“What!? No! No, no way man, not at all.” Bill said, waving his hands a bit. “I mean seeing you play again would be great, but you know I’ve always wanted to play. I always regretted quitting my lessons, and was even thinking of having Georgie dig my guitar out of the attic for me.” His voice was cadenced of sincerity, though the rest of him, visually that is, was giving off different cues. Cues that read that maybe he didn’t really desperately want Richie to teach him how to play the guitar, that he didn’t conveniently, _just right now_ , have an urge to come up and ask him.

Richie sighed again, trying to calm down from his snap of frustration. He ran his hands through his hair before placing them in his lap. He ran his thumb over the palm of his left hand. He really was considering it, because though he knew that the whole plan was probably bullshit, he knew that Bill was thinking about playing again. He mentioned it sometime over the summer, and again just as Richie started throwing around the idea of buying a bass guitar.

Bill took lessons at the same time Richie started his. Freshman year of high school, Richie’s dad bought his first guitar and put him in lessons, Saturday mornings at a music shop just outside of Derry. Bill’s parents had bought him a guitar as well, it definitely wasn’t as nice as Richie’s Gibson, and he wasn’t even sure he could remember the model or even what it looked like, but it was just a standard electric. Bill had given up with the lessons once they started working on songs that were more than just cords, songs that had a bass line and a melody that they were to individually pluck the strings along to. Richie had been really good at it obviously, picking it up fast and advancing through his workbook faster than Bill, and keeping up with it because he loved to play. Bill just wasn’t as passionate about it, and that was okay.

Richie sighed again, running his thumb down the inside of his wrist now, feeling his tendons shift as he made a fist with his hand. Which, though it still hurt a bit, was easier to do now at least. Maybe that dumb ass stress ball was really doing something.

He bit the inside of his lip and nodded, eyes still locked on his wrist, hoping that those damned tendons won’t let him down.

“Is that a yes?” Bill said, sounding a little shocked and possibly even excited.

“Yes, it’s a fucking yes.” Richie said, sounding a little frustrated still.

Just as Bill shot up out of his seat to go downstairs, Richie stood as well, walking as fast as he could to the master bathroom. He relied heavily on the walls and door handles as he went along, and once he was in there, it was the edge of the counter he gripped. He squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, taking a few deep breaths. He knew this was about to be a disaster, how could it not be? He knew he would probably get frustrated and want to fucking throw something, but he also knew he kind of _had_ to do it. He just had to know… he just had to know if it was even possible. If those feelings he got playing music would be obtainable again, he just needed to know if he could play.

He knew he was being dramatic, but he just couldn’t be in the room with his guitars yet, he needed to enter on his own accord, he needed to pick up the instrument himself. He gripped the laminate of the countertop, digging the tips of his fingers beneath it, watching in the mirror as his forearm flexed, and his tendons showed in his wrist. He squeezed until it hurt, and winced through the pain, squeezing more once he felt it, just because he felt that he could.

“Fucking… _damnit!”_ He cursed, because the pain was unbearable after maybe five seconds.

It was confusing, annoying, it was a confliction in his brain, because he wanted to play his guitar, more than anything. He wanted to feel the dig of the strings in the tips of his fingers, wanted to hear the music that rang through them. At the same time though, it was the last thing he wanted to do, because it would be a reminder that everything wasn’t okay, that he was different now.

He looked at his face in the mirror now, at first glance, someone who knew him would think that he returned to wearing his old glasses for whatever reason, and that his hair was different now, but then he turned his head, showing that damned scar beginning on his temple. It was mostly covered by hair now, at least on his scalp, but if you knew it was there, you could see the break in his hair growth. It was a constant reminder of his changed state, it was a constant reminder that he was almost gone for good, and that he almost left all the people he loved. But at the same time, it was a reminder that he had taken so much for granted before, his ability to play, his ability to love, and the fact that so many amazing people loved him.

He took another deep sigh before leaning over the counter to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. He needed to cool off, he needed to draw back a bit. Remove himself from the situation for a minute, just to fucking walk out there and pick up his damned guitar.

He dried his hands and face, and took another deep breath, shaking out his hands a bit before actually leaving the bathroom. He tried to ignore his frustration that came with walking, having been used to it being so simple before, now it was such an awkward and verging on painful task, mostly from how overworked his leg was becoming.

Once he got into the living room, he tried his best to flip his emotions off, refusing to draw attention to feeling he got at the sight of his cardinal red Gibson on the bed there, all scribbled on and well loved. One of his closest friends that he’s missed so dearly. He could barely look at the damned thing without it tugging at his heart strings now. If it had eyes he would be avoiding them entirely.

He reached his left arm towards it neck, like he’s done a million times before. Gripping it as firmly as he could before picking it up, it slipped in his grasp a bit because of its weight, by no means was it a light piece of equipment. He felt Bill’s eyes on his back as he moved, who sat in the armchair again, with Richie’s acoustic in his arms, holding it like he knew how, because he did.

He felt a pain in his wrist from the weight of the guitar, and decided that he’d better sit down and get the thing in his lap before he gave up on everything, so that’s what he did. He settled into sitting, in his hunched fashion, positioning his hands over the strings in their respective positions and he felt truly at home.

“I tuned them up, I think I did it right… _every boy gets dinner at eight_ right?” Bill said, in a light manner, recalling the acronym that their teacher taught them so long ago to remember the order in which to tune the strings.

Richie cracked a bit of a smile. “Yep, you got it big Bill.” He chuckled a bit.

He ran his thumb across the strings then, to check if Bill had actually done it right, and he sure as shit did, because it sounded beautiful, almost perfect, Richie figured it would be perfect if he had some fresh strings. He still had yet to try his hand at placing his fingers over the strings, but Bill was trying his best to hide a smile anyway, and Richie was fully aware of it.

It felt good holding his guitar again, the weight of it in his lap, the coolness of its body against his arm and chest. He heard the sliding glass door of the porch slide open, and knew it to be Bev returning from a smoke break. He didn’t want to spare her a glance, because he knew how high she had her hopes for his playing, he didn’t want to disappoint her or even see the expression on her face. In his peripheral she leant against the frame of the entryway to the living room from the dining room.

“You remember the minor scale?” Richie asked, swallowing the ball in his throat that he knew to be there out of nerves.

“I think so…” Bill said, positioning his fingers between the frets of the guitar, plucking the strings along to the scale.

Richie watched his fingers over the strings on the neck of the guitar. He played slow, obviously trying to remember the scale as he went along. For Richie, practicing scales had been a major factor in his ability to play guitar in the way that Bill wanted to learn now. Plucking a melody rather than strumming chords, sounding like an entire song rather than just part of one.

As Bill approached the higher end of the scale, his finger fell upon the wrong position, and it tweaked a nerve in Richie’s brain, so he reached and repositioned his finger, over the correct position now. Bill smirked and started the scale over. He stumbled a bit, and Richie knew that he should be playing along with him, he knew Bill needed an example as to what the notes were supposed to sound like.

He tried to swallow away the ball in his throat and sat back a bit, positioning his guitar back into playing position, and running through the scale, like it was his fucking job. His fingers were light on the strings, lighter than they were used to, so it felt weird. He bit the inside of his lip, because for how easy it was to run through that scale, he was getting a little excited, ahead of himself even.

“Oh okay…” Bill said, the notes and finger positions that were once jumbled in his brain clear to him now.

Richie nodded, as Bill played, correctly now, even going so far as to bring the scale back down, running through what he had just played, but backwards now.

“Okay now let’s do the D scale.” Richie said, not really bothering to mask the little ounce of excitement in his voice because god dammit, he had his fucking guitar in his lap and that scale was a breeze to run through.

They played the D scale together, and Richie was getting admittedly too comfortable and eager as they played down the scale, because his fingers pushed on the strings as hard as they wanted to, and it caused his tendons to twinge a bit. He let up on his grip, which felt weird to do, because his grip wasn’t what it _should be_. It wasn’t how it was _supposed_ to be… it was too loose; he didn’t have the control he used to have before the accident. All they were doing were scales though, and he could probably play those with the guitar strapped across his back, it was like speaking at this point, something so engrained and automatic.

They ran through each of the scales that they were required to learn so long ago, and Bill was really getting the hang of it by the time they got to the major scale, so they picked up the pace a bit, playing them consecutively, in order of their inclination as well as playing to a beat tapped on Richie’s right foot.

“I wish we had one of those practice books with _Marry had a Little Lamb_ and shit…” Richie partially joked, because he felt ready for them to run through a little song. He tried to work through on his fingers how to play _Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star_.

“Wait, I’ll be right back.” Bill lay Richie’s acoustic down on the bed next to him before running down the basement steps.

Richie wasn’t really sure what he was getting down there, but didn’t get the chance to think about it too much, because he was too focused on the feeling of his guitar again. He felt almost powerful now. It’s not like he could play much of anything, but just the feeling of plucking at the strings again was doing something for him.

Bev came towards him then, ruffling his curls as she walked past, jogging down the steps of the basement. He heard a mumbling of chatter before the sound of Bev flicking on the amplifier for her keyboard, and running through a few scales herself. Richie smiled to himself, happy that she, like him, found passion in playing music.

Bill came running back up the stairs then, carrying a flimsy plastic book with a guitar on the front. A practice book, that was obviously brand spanking new.

“Where’d this come from?” Richie asked, frankly confused.

“Uh, The Music Center… in Brunswick.” Bill said, a bit sheepishly.

“Well that’s fucking _random,_ what were you doing all the way over there?” Richie asked, even more confused at the fact that Bill was all the way in Brunswick at a music store.

“We—I was just kind of looking around, you know.” Bill said, sitting back down in his seat.

“We?”

“I meant _I._ I was just looking around.”

“Okay weirdo.” Richie said, taking the workbook from him, thumbing through the beginning pages, searching for a tune for him to show Bill how to play.

He wasn’t at all satisfied with the answer, because there were plenty of music stores closer to where they lived, he didn’t have to be going all the way to Brunswick to ‘just look around,’ it didn’t make sense.

In the background, Bev was playing a piece that Richie recognized to be something by Claude Debussy, which also struck a bell in his brain, because where did she get music for Debussy? Nothing was making sense anymore, but Richie didn’t want to focus on that, because he was too desperate to play something other than a scale.

He thumbed through the pages until his eyes found something they wanted. _Ode to Joy_ was always a good first piece to learn.

“Here we go, now we’re in business…” Richie said as Bill reached for Richie’s acoustic, picking it up and positioning it on his lap again.

Richie set the book down next to him, angled towards Bill, so he turned a bit sideways to read it as well. He didn’t really turn to sheet music, in fact, he hadn’t really played off of a piece of paper in years, because he didn’t really have to.

He ran through the first eight bars himself, it was easy, because they were all quarter notes and he played it slow, focusing on his left hand more than his right, which was normal for playing guitar in the fashion he did, but it wasn’t in the way that a guitar player would usually be more aware of their left hand. He focused on keeping his fingers light on the strings, trying his best not to strain his wrist too much. He was happy with his playing, because all the notes were correct, it was in key, and in time. Though, the thought of playing what he _really wanted to_ dwelled on him. He wanted to play Thin Lizzy, Nirvana, ACDC, he wanted to play rock and roll, he wanted to get dirty with his music and bang his head along to it. But for now, he was here with Bill, showing him how to play _Ode to_ fucking _Joy_ and at the same time familiarizing his fucked up wrist to the feeling of playing the guitar again.

Richie played the song again, slowly this time, because now Bill knew what it was supposed to sound like, Bill played along, a combination of reading the music for himself and checking Richie’s fingerings when he came to a note he was confused about. It was kind of fun, thrilling almost, playing the song, slow and steady, Bill stumbling along, fucking up notes every once in a while, causing Richie to pause where he was in the song, repeating the note that Bill missed a few times until he got it, then they were moving again, finishing the song and ultimately starting it over.

They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, Eddie was home and it actually caught Richie by surprise, which was a change of pace because usually Richie was counting down the fucking seconds before he walked into the door.

“What’s all this?” Eddie said, cheerfully, his face beaming over to them as he shrugged off his hoodie and toed out of his shoes.

He wore a tank top and sweats to work that day, because it was springtime now and he worked in a garage. He was a bit grimy and tousled and it was fucking sexy. Richie had gotten used to Eddie coming home looking like that, but the tank top was an added bonus. His toned arms on display for Richie to drool over.

“Richie’s _re-teaching_ me how to play.” Bill said.

Richie nodded and couldn’t hold back the smile on his face, because not only was he really happy to be playing again, but he was super fucking happy to see _Eddie._

“And how’s that going?” Eddie asked, walking over to them now.

“Great, I’d say.” Richie said, looking to Bill for affirmation, who nodded in agreement.

“Well that’s fucking awesome.” Eddie said, placing a hand on Richie’s shoulder.

Richie smiled up at him and nodded a bit.

“Have you been walking around?” Eddie asked him.

“Sure have.”

“Have you tried the stairs yet?”

“Nope, I was waiting for you to try that one with, my dear.”

“Do you think you _could_ if you tried?”

“I _definitely_ could if I tried.” Richie said nodding because he was confident in his answer.

Eddie smiled at him, then bent to press a kiss to his cheek. It was brief, but every ounce of sweetness that Eddie was.

“Okay, you guys better get back to it.” Eddie said, before running his fingers through Richie’s curls, pushing them away from his forehead and leaving the room towards the kitchen.

“Damn, that job is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Richie said, in a bit of a hushed tone so only Bill could hear him.

“Eddie’s job?”

“Yes, Eddie’s job.”

“What? Why?” Bill asked, confused.

“Have you fucking _seen_ him lately?” Richie asked, entirely shocked that Bill didn’t know what he was fucking talking about.

“Yes, what about it?”

Richie just took a dramatic sigh and shook his head, furrowing his brows because _fuck_ Eddie looked so fucking good coming home from that damned job. Today for instance, his white tank top fit him _so fucking well_ and was tainted with some grime and was even a little fucking _wet._ The small of his back was even a little wet with perspiration and his hair was tousled. His face, collar, and neck were shiny with some recent sweat. To top it all off he wore these damn jogger sweatpants that made his ass look like a fucking desert.

Richie ignored Bill’s look of confusion and just went back to focusing on their guitar playing. He ran through the ode to joy written in the book a few times, and Bill ran through it with him. Then, he got bored, so he added some things to that melody, a bass line on the lower strings for one, getting comfortable with that before adding a bit of texture to the melody that existed already. Bill was a bit flabbergasted by the whole thing, and Richie was more so just exploring his own limit, figuring out where he could draw the line in his playing considering his injury for the moment.

He heard Eddie finish up whatever he was doing in the kitchen, and watched as he jogged downstairs. He didn’t think much of it because he was probably going to just say hi to Bev and shower like how he usually did when he got home from work. Eddie wasn’t usually one to feel comfortable with existing in sweaty clothes for longer than he had to. He was clean and neat, and always one to smell nice, no matter how much Richie’s abdomen pooled with the scent of him just after work.

Richie fell more and more into the piece, though it wasn’t complicated or anywhere near the level he had been at before the accident. He was spicing it up how he liked to, ignoring the occasional twinge of pain that shot through his wrist when his grip grew too strong. Bill kind of tuned out a bit, focusing more on perfecting the line of melody on paper, those quarter notes, played at a comfortable beginner’s tempo.

He was extremely focused on his playing, so focused that he paid no mind to the sudden absence of Bev’s piano playing downstairs, or the sounds of her adjusting her keyboard settings to something with more funk. He played and played, became more and more enthralled with the melody, getting carried away in that familiar way that aroused something in his brain. He grew more and more comfortable and more and more tranced into the workings of his fingers on the strings until he was pulled away by a sound that he never really expected to hear in his own fucking house.

The jazzy piano that Bev played, that was deemed background noise to Richie’s awareness up until now was accented by the sound of drums. A steady rhythm that didn’t strike anything that fancy, but was a rhythm none the less. It was jazz, that played, because there wasn’t much else one could do with a keyboard and a drum set, and it sounded… good. At the first smack of a snare, Richie stopped playing immediately, attention drawn to the opened door of the basement, as if inviting him.

He sat staring, because he didn’t know what else to do, it was too fucking good to be true.

 _“What the fuck…”_ He whispered. Mostly to himself, but Bill chuckled a bit, because he obviously knew what the fuck was up.

Richie shook his head a bit, in disbelief. He laid his guitar across the pillows on the bed and stood up. Staring at the opened basement door as he did so. Bill just went back to practicing _Ode to Joy_ , and Richie couldn’t give a shit about _Ode to Joy_ anymore, because he had to get the fuck downstairs, right fucking now.

He wobbled over to the opened door of the basement and planted a firm hand on the railing. They were deep into the song now, and in the fashion of jazz, were taking turns soloing. It was the piano solo now and Bev was going to town on the keyboard, which Richie could see from where he was, because her keyboard was pretty much right at the base of the stairs. She played well, there was no doubt about that. Richie’s heard her play thousands of times, and she always impressed him with her ability to get better and better over the years.

He stepped downstairs, one at a time, settling both feet on a step before moving onto the next. The song they played was up-tempo and exciting, Richie could imagine what a bass guitar would sound like in the mix, probably quick eighth notes with a lot of accidentals.

He was close to the bottom of the stairs now, and Bev was finishing up her thirty six measures of jazz solo, which meant that the drum solo was next. Richie came down the rest of the stairs as fast as he could, stumbling a bit, but it was okay because he had Bev’s shoulder to hold onto. He stood there for a second, just fucking admiring the picture in front of him. Because, _holy FUCK_ did Eddie look _so fucking good playing the drums._

His strong arms flexed with each smack of a drumstick, his knees bounced with each pound of the bass drum or riff on the high hat. He was fucking _gorgeous_ sitting there, with his head of messy hair bobbing along to his playing, with his cherry lips parted a bit and his brows furrowed with focus. The drum set itself was a light olive green, kind of shimmery, and Richie knew it to be the brand _Ludwig_ because of the font on the front of the bass drum. The whole set sat on top of a carpet Richie didn’t recognize, and in front of a couch that he did. The one that they had moved downstairs to make room for the cot in the living room. Richie moved across the room, watching Eddie like a hawk as he went along, with intent to sit on the couch behind him.

He played fucking _well…_ he wasn’t bad at all, and didn’t sound anything like someone playing the drums for one of their first times. He knew what he was fucking doing, and it was fucking _hot._ His solo was jazzy chaos, with some blast beats mixed in. It was unique and well-practiced; and it was fucking intoxicating watching him. Richie’s stomach and head buzzed with excitement and pure adrenaline of watching Eddie go to town on this fucking drum set.

He settled into his seat on the couch and watched Eddie from behind as he played his heart out. He watched as his shoulder blades moved and his back flexed with each note that was escalated compared to the rest. Richie felt himself almost drool at the whole scene. How arousing it was, watching as Eddie’s shoulders and neck glistened more and more with sweat, because playing the drums was obviously hard work.

As he came down from the solo, he looked to Bev and gave a bit of a nod, and in doing so Richie caught that fucking smile on his face. He was fucking beautiful, and Richie was growing ravenous, craving his touch more and more, spiraling down this fucking rabbit hole of his fantasy of Eddie playing the drums becoming reality right before his eyes. Everything he imagined, manifesting right before his very eyes, the control he had over the chaos of the instrument was thrilling.

Together, they fell back into the base melody of the piece, Eddie striking the rhythm of the song against the drum set as if it was second nature. The key of the jazz piece changed, how it usually did when jazz songs were coming to an end. They played the piece to completion, Eddie closing the song with a riff on the drums.

As the symbol rang out, Eddie spun around on the tiny black stool he sat on and beamed Richie that beautiful smile. He was a bit out of breath, which was understandably so, because the piece they just played was _demanding_ on the drums. His cheeks were flushed, and his forehead was a bit sweaty, so some wisps of his hair stuck onto it. He was fucking beautiful there, still holding the sticks in his hands, that seemed to be pretty warn, indentations and welts riddled the tips of them, and Richie knew damn well that this wasn’t the first time they’ve been used.

Richie let his eyes trail across his body, how fucking _rugged_ and worn he looked, topped off with that beautiful smile of pearly white teeth and his sparkly brown eyes that Richie felt could light up a room. He wanted him so fucking bad.

Eddie’s face kind of fell a bit, but not in a bad way, because his pupils dilated, and he knew exactly what Richie was thinking. He took a deep breath and tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, pulling it in with his tongue and worrying it a bit with his teeth. Richie couldn’t help but gaze because Eddie’s mouth was fucking perfect and he wanted to taste it.

“Okay I’m fucking evacuating.” Bev said, and Richie didn’t really acknowledge her because he was too fucking focused on Eddie, who also didn’t acknowledge her. They’ll all probably laugh about it later anyway.

She jogged up the stairs and shut the door behind her.

“You better get over here right fucking now.” Richie said, leaning back in his seat a bit and opening his arms, he needed Eddie no top of him right now before he started fucking squirming.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice, he shot up out of his seat, letting his drumsticks clatter to the floor as he went. Richie grabbed him by the waist once he was close enough, guiding him into sitting on his lap.

Richie couldn’t help but moan then, because the feeling of Eddie’s weight on his lap again was fucking bliss.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked then, perching up on his knees a bit and leaning back, worried that he hurt Richie.

“I am _so fucking okay._ ” He leant forward and buried his face into his neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, gripping the back of his tank top, balling it into his right fist, pulling it tight across his chest as he inhaled. Eddie smelled musky and natural, his scent absent of product and chemicals. It was intoxicating and Richie couldn’t help but lean forward even more, tipping Eddie backwards a bit on his lap, who in response wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck, and scoot forward a bit, knocking their crotches together as he went along. Richie exhaled sharply at the relief. “I missed you on top of me.” His voice was close to that deep growl that came over him in times like this.

“You look _so fucking good like this…_ ” Richie said against his neck. Running his lips along his jugular tasting the saltiness of his skin.

Richie held his right hand in its grip of the back of his shirt, twisting it a bit to pull it even more taught, he let his left hand explore his chest, thumb searching for his nipple. Eddie gasped a bit when he found it, because he was _so fucking sensitive,_ and the mere thought of that fact alone could get Richie off.

Eddie’s fingers found the back of Richie’s scalp like they always did, because that was their fucking spot in times like this. Richie reacting so heavily to the sensation of his nails scratching there, or the way he tugged on it when his fists grew tight from pleasure.

He bit and kissed at the skin of his neck, tasting entirely of Eddie.

“When the fuck did you learn to do that?” Richie asked as he went along, tweaking and sucking and gripping.

_“Twice a week, last semester… I would drive to a shop in Brunswick…lessons.”_

Richie gave his nipple a tweak between his fingers then, and sat back to really gaze at the man on his lap, because _fuck_ was he a fucking dream to admire.

“And how _the fuck_ did you get that down here when I’ve been in the living room for two months?”

_“When Stan and Mike took you to get your cast off… we went and bought it.”_

Richie took his right hand and gripped the front waistband of Eddie’s joggers, getting a firm grasp before tugging him forward, their crotches nocked together again and they both released their own version of a moan.

“I don’t fucking deserve you…” Richie said, letting his left hand travel and grip the back of his neck, letting his thumb graze along his jawline and earlobe. He was completely enamored with the idea of Eddie going through such an effort to surprise him, knowing how much Richie admired the idea of Eddie finally playing music with him.

Eddie kind of tipped his head into the attention. _“Yes, you fucking do, dumb ass.”_ Eddie said with a bit of a smile, that sweet smile that put that glimmer in his eye and that lopsided smirk on his mouth.

“It’s been torture fucking waiting.” Richie said, acknowledging their agreement that they shouldn’t go for full on sex until Richie got his cast off at least, it was more so Eddies request, the last thing they wanted to do was make anything worse.

 _“Fuck yes, it’s been fucking torture.”_ Eddie sighed, burying his hands further into Richie’s hair and shifting higher up on his lap. Richie let his hands fall to grip either side of his waist, dipping his head to rest on his shoulder.

Eddie turned his head and kissed behind Richie’s ear. He tipped his head into the kiss and let his hands travel, watching them as they went, pads of his fingers pressing dips into his thighs, fleshy but still muscular, he was a runner after all, and it fucking showed.

He watched as his thumbs dragged along that grey fabric of his sweatpants, letting the nails of his fingers drag along the sides of his thighs, lightly but still firm enough for him to feel it, knowing the reaction that usually followed was always something to cherish. The sides of his thighs were a sensitive spot for Eddie, so sensitive even that the mere graze of his nails on his bare skin as they were drifting to sleep would be enough to make him shiver and squirm. It wasn’t a ticklish spot per say, just one that made him react, and fuck, did he react then.

He inhaled sharply and arched his back, grinding down a bit against Richie’s crotch, and moving one of his hands to grip the back of the couch for support. Richie tipped his head at that and licked a spot on Eddie’s neck before sucking it into his mouth, swiping his teeth over the spot, working a bite into his skin that would soon blemish rosewood purple, and tell everyone that he encountered that he was fucking taken, that he was fucking his. Sure, it was possessive, but Richie got like that sometimes, especially in moments so intimate like this.

It used to be so bad, that in high school when Eddie so much as talked to someone else, sometimes even within their group of losers, Richie would have to clench his jaw and look away, act as if it didn’t bother him. Now, though, Eddie was officially _his._ He could tell the world that he was taken with these rosewood marks that looked so damned good against his tanned skin. And hell, Eddie wore them proudly, and Richie did too, though he never had as many as Eddie did at a time.

When Richie felt satisfied with the work he put into the mark, he exhaled a cool jet of air against it, causing Eddie to shudder and bury his fingers deeper into the curls at the back of Richie’s scalp. He kissed the mark once before moving on to work on another, this time closer to his clavicle. As he worked he let his hands travel to Eddie’s ass, groping and squeezing the soft pillows of flesh. He urged him up a bit and brought him back down a few times, as if experimenting.

 _Fuck…_ he wanted to be inside him. He wanted to feel that tight heat, waiting so patiently for him. Not that he didn’t enjoy what they’ve been doing, he just knew what he was missing out on, and he craved it.

"I want you _so fucking bad...._ " Richie growled trailing his mouth up his neck and nosing at his earlobe.

Eddie shuddered at the sensation of his breath against his neck, that growl so close to his ear.

 _“I’ve missed your tight fucking pussy around my cock.”_ Richie moved his right hand beneath Eddie’s shirt, feeling up his chest, feeling that slick spot just above his stomach and between his pecks from sweat. _“I miss watching you quiver and whine for it. You look so fucking pretty when you whine Eds.”_

Eddie whined a bit then, because as Richie was growling vulgarity into his ear he tweaked at his nipple again, so fucking sensitive.

_“Let me fucking finger you. I want to watch you come undone.”_

Eddie shifted higher up on Richie’s lap then, grinding against his abdomen.

 _“Richie… let me fucking ride you.”_ He said as he nuzzled the side of his face against Richie’s neck, squirming in his lap. Fuck, this whole thing was so hot, Richie couldn’t help but grip his ass tighter, ignoring the sear of pain shooting down his left wrist just to fucking _feel him._

Richie groaned a bit at the feeling of Eddie wiggling around in his lap, dying to feel some sort of relief. Eddie’s fingers at his scalp and the way he nuzzled against him, arching his back, pushing against the grip of his hands as if dying for more, it was all heaven.

Richie sunk his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s pants, just above his ass, tugging them down a bit to expose a majority of the soft skin there. It was the softest skin Richie has ever felt in his life, it was heaven to touch, to grope, to squeeze.

 _“I love you so fucking much baby, I’ve missed you on top of me like this.”_ Richie said through a breath of air. _“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you could only imagine how much I want you to ride my dick right now.”_

He knew that Eddie was a bit weary of Richie hurting himself, or him hurting Richie in moments like this. Both of them well aware of how much Richie loves to take control sometimes.

 _“I want to. So… fucking bad, you know I want to.”_ Eddie said, almost whiny next to his ear, rubbing his cheek against the side of his head a bit as he spoke.

Richie felt the tone of his voice affect him immediately, pooling that heat low in his stomach, making his thighs tense and his head go foggy with lust.

He leant his head against Eddie’s cheek a bit and let his arms slide beneath Eddies shirt to pull him closer and just feel more of his soft, warm, skin, slick with sweat. He wanted him closer, needed him closer. His impulse to roll his hips then was _oh so strong_ , so he did, feeling the clash of their crotches against one another, writhing in the relief for a second, because he has been rocking a semi since Eddie fucking walked in the door.

Eddie was hot no matter what. He loved the way he looked no matter what he was wearing, because hell, it was fucking _Eddie._ But when he walks in the door all grimy and sweaty from his job at the garage, hair all disheveled and cheeks all sun-kissed, Richie just wanted to fucking devour him. To throw that whole act of him absolutely killing it on the drums, with his back and neck all slick and shiny in the low light of the basement, Richie couldn’t fucking contain himself.

On top of all that though, they were alone again, _officially_ alone again. In their sanctuary. _Richie and Eddie’s room._ The safe space they shared, where they could do anything, say anything, and no one else is there to hear. That thought alone was enough to make Richie’s head spin with anticipation.

Sure, they fooled around in the living room, but it was never _this._ It was never loud and ravenous, it was never that aching need and that begging from Eddie to ride his cock. It was always hushed and cautious, hands and mouths exploring rather than the whole shebang. It was nice, and it was safe, and it made sense for the situation, but _now…_ Richie felt like his brain was going to melt because Eddie was begging to take his cock where it hadn’t been in two months.

 _“Let me go for just a second… hold on…”_ Eddie said, all rushed and scrambly as he slid off of Richie’s lap entirely, scurrying over to Richie’s bedside table across the room, digging in the drawer.

Richie sighed into a silent groan, rubbing his hands up and down his face and rolling his hips with anticipation. He was fucking _dying_ for Eddie to get back into his lap, his weight and the crowd of his body around him was such an arousing thrill that Richie craved with every ounce of his being.

“Fuck… I have to go upstairs.”

Richie groaned and fell dramatically to his side on the couch.

“Calm down, it’ll be two seconds.” Eddie closed the drawer and fixed his pants. “Take your fucking pants off and be patient.”

Richie snorted into a laugh then, Eddie chuckled too as he ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. Richie then realized how hot he’s gotten; his forehead was sweaty, and he felt it was time to get his shirt off. He sat up and pulled it off over his head, listening to the muffled voices upstairs, from the living room where Eddie was on a desperate hunt for lube.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to come running back downstairs then, bottle in hand, but he didn’t stop at the side table again for condoms.

“No condoms?” Richie asked, because there were times when Eddie wanted to take him bare, but he always just wanted to be sure that it wasn’t because they didn’t have supplies. He wanted to be safe if Eddie wanted to, though he was always _more than excited_ to exclude the rubber if Eddie wanted to.

“No, we have some, I just don’t want to use one.” Eddie said, tossing the lube onto the couch next to Richie as he worked his pants off then, picking up his hips a bit and shimmying them down his thighs. “…because we’re both clean, and you’re not going to give me anything, and I am not going to give you anything.” He said that last part kind of bitter, and Richie knew that it was all a part of his rebellion against his mother, and he was happy to be a part in that mental healing for him.

“You could say that again Eddie baby, now get the fuck over here before I blow my load just thinking about it.” Richie said, summoning Eddie with his free hand as he tossed his pants to the side.

Eddie undressed quickly, tearing that hot fucking tank top over his head and kicking his pants off before clambering over to Richie and mounting his lap again. Their lips connected in desperation, and it was entirely intoxicating. The slickness of Eddie’s mouth, the taste of him, the way his fingers found their way to the back of Richie’s scalp again and how his knees crept up along either side of his thighs, scooting closer and closer.

Richie focused on the kiss. How their tongues danced together, swiping and licking, tasting and loving how Eddie’s teeth playfully bit at his bottom lip occasionally. Kissing Eddie was a thrill, something he always appreciated that they saved for moments like this, when they were so fucking sensual. Richie let his hands travel along either side of his thighs, grazing the tips of his fingers along, loving the way Eddie shivered at the sensation after a few strokes. He drew his nails of his left hand up along his back as his other hand squeezed at his bare ass.

Eddie whined into the kiss, into Richie’s mouth and he felt his eyes shake beneath his eyelids, because dammit it was so fucking _hot_ when Eddie did shit like that. Aroused to the point of vocalization from pent up anticipation and the touch of Richie’s hands.

Richie’s hand patted at the seat next to him searching for the bottle he knew to be there. Once he found it, he scoot down a bit in his seat, and pushed Eddie up in such a way that arched his back and exposed his hole to Richie’s hands beneath it. Richie encouraged the kiss as he adjusted their position, nowhere near done with the sensation of Eddie’s mouth on his own.

He uncapped the lube and slicked up the fingers of his right hand, using his left to cup and run the occasional graze of his fingernails along his ass, thigh, and back. He circled his entrance with his finger, pushing against the opening experimentally, feeling just how fucking _tight_ he was.

 _“Fuck Eds, you’re like a virgin all over again.”_ Richie teased.

Eddie laughed a bit, and it was breathy and not all there because of how worked up he was in that moment. _“Shut up ass… people don’t ride their first time.”_

Richie laughed too, and settled his left hand a bit firmly at his hip as he pushed his finger passed the tight knot of muscle.

Eddie hissed and scrunched his eye’s closed at the sensation, arching his back and tangling his finger’s further into Richie’s hair. Resting his head against Richie’s shoulder to focus entirely on prepping himself to take Richie’s cock. Damn, two months is a long fucking time.

Richie leant forward a bit and kissed and mouthed at the skin of his shoulder as he worked his finger in all the way, wiggling it around a bit once he felt it necessary. Pulling his finger out only to push it back in and feel the way Eddie’s back dipped into the sensation, arching to help focus on adjusting himself to the length and sensation of Richie’s fingers.

This was about to be a process, but it was one of Richie’s favorite things to do, having Eddie gasping, moaning, whining, and sighing at the sensations, feeling him from within, all wet and slick and warm. He loved that Eddie trusted him enough to do this. _Loved_ him enough to do this. It was months into their relationship when Eddie shared that he never let anyone else prep him like this, never let someone else listen to his body and take their time with him. Ever since then, he’s always been kind of sentimental with the whole thing, adding it to the countless, never ending list of things Richie had sentimental-association with that revolved around his relationship with Eddie. He didn’t really _realize_ how much Eddie had trusted him until then, how safe Eddie felt in his hands.

Richie pushed a second finger passed the knot of muscle and got to work adjusting him to the width. Feeling the little nod that Eddie did against his shoulder, adjusting himself to kiss and bite at the skin of his neck, his hot mouth working at the skin joining his neck and shoulder. Eddie sometimes needed an oral fixation to focus on when Richie was working on spreading him open. Sometimes, when Richie was hovering over him, worshiping the body that belonged to the soul he felt so attached to, it was his fingers in his mouth, playing with his tongue, Eddie’s hand’s gripping his wrist, holding him there as he sucked and licked his hot mouth around his digits. Now though, he was mouthing at the side of Richie’s neck, working hickies into his pale skin, as his fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head.

Eddie sighed into the sensation every once in a while, Richie feeling the exhale at his neck was an indicator that he could flex his fingers against his prostate or scissor them open to stretch him more. It was a lengthy process, but one that Richie went about with care. He didn’t want to hurt Eddie, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Eddie, he wanted to make him feel good, it was his kink after all. Worshiping that lean tanned skin, fondling all the parts that really struck a chord of arousal in Eddie’s brain, making him writhe and squirm with pleasure, only to later quiver and whine at the feeling of Richie’s cock taking care of him.

Sex with anyone else was ruined for him, knowing he could never really get off to anything else, having experienced Eddie Kaspbrak. It was all just _too good_ , they worked so well together, in every general way, but especially when the context was sexual.

Eventually, Eddie was ready for Richie’s third finger, and he took it well, used to the feeling of getting stretched out now. He pushed back against his fingers every once in a while, urging Richie further and mouthing at his neck. Richie let his free hand explore the skin of Eddie’s back, fingers grazing over the taught muscle and dipping into the dimple next to his spine, settling finally on the swell of his ass.

 _“Okay… okay I’m ready.”_ Eddie whined.

“You sure?”

_“So, fucking sure.”_

He adjusted in Richie’s lap as Richie gently removed his fingers. He squeezed some more lube into his palm and ran his hand along the length of his own cock a few times, he couldn’t help but sigh into the relief. Eddie hovered above the tip and Richie lined himself up with his hole.

Eddie worked at his own pace, steadily settling onto his cock, inch by inch. Richie couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss and mouth at his chest and neck, because _fuck_ Eddie was fucking delectable. All hot and bothered, sliding down his cock and looking so fucking pretty as he did it. His cheeks were blushed and so was his chest, his eyes were opened only partially, but still shone that glossy brown that Richie loved so much, long pretty eyelashes and freckles to match his cherry bruised lips.

The position was kind of uncomfortable and inconvenient, but neither of them cared, each of them far too desperate to be connected in the fashion they were in now. Richie’s head was a fucking _blur…_ the tight hot, wet, heat of Eddie’s hole around him was fucking _everything he needed right now._

 _“Fuck Eds… you feel so… fucking good.”_ Richie’s voice was somewhere between a sigh and a groan, burring his face into Eddie’s chest, pressing his cheek against the hot skin there, and coiling his arms around his back, in somewhat of a loose hug.

Eddie’s arm found its way around Richie’s neck and his other combed through his hair a bit, pushing it out of his face before his fingers tangled into it again.

_“So fucking… tight, and hot… you know how to take it so well…”_

Eddie started to shift his hips up and down then, slow and careful, but it felt _so fucking good._ Richie moaned embarrassingly loud, hugging Eddie a bit tighter, feeling the way his diaphragm expanded in his arms and against his cheek.

 _“Richie…baby… you’re so fucking big.”_ Eddie whined, tangling his fingers further into his hair as he worked to slide further down the length of his cock.

Richie shifted to mouth against the skin on his neck now, eager to suck and bite more marks into it. Eddie tipped his head more to accommodate as he settled a bit on Richie’s lap to adjust further. He wiggled his hips and shifted his legs before planting his hands on Richie’s shoulders again, pushing him back a bit to lean against the back rest of the couch. Eddie then confidently rode up and down his length a few times, and _fuck_ it felt amazing.

Richie’s head fell back, and he groaned openly towards the ceiling, overwhelmed with stimulation, so fucking drunk on the feeling of _Eddie._

Eddie was panting and had that silent whiny expression on his face, beautiful red lips parted, eyebrows tugged together with glossy brown squinted eyes and blushed, freckled cheeks. _Stunning._

_“You’re so fucking pretty Eds…”_

That cherry red mouth quirked into a bit of a smirk and his eyebrows settled a bit. He leaned down, closer to his ear as he rode up and down Richie’s cock.

_“I love you so fucking much.”_

Richie felt his throat ball up, because his voice was so honest with arousal, and so entirely sweet. He felt the tears brim in his eyes, and he brought his hand up to cup Eddie’s cheek then, because God dammit, he loved this man so fucking much.

Eddie leant his head against his touch a bit and adjusted his position so he could ride Richie with a bit more purpose, completely adjusted to him now, and ready to really focus on the end goal. Richie let his hand fall to his waist, holding him firmly as he bobbed up and down.

He was growing more and more panted above him, that whiny expression was back, and he elicited soft little moans every few beats. He was so fucking sexy, and so fucking deserving of something more, so Richie wrapped his hand then around his cock, slick with pre-cum, and waiting so patiently for some fucking attention.

Eddie threw his head back and moaned, at the added stimulation, Richie swiped his hand up and down his length in time with Eddie’s beat. Richie felt that heat in his stomach build up and knew he was close now, and the way Eddie’s thighs quivered was telling of his own closeness.

 _“Fuck… Eddie I love you so fucking much.”_ Richie panted, increasing the pace of his hand jerking Eddie’s cock. _“I’m so fucking close.”_

Eddie moaned his loud, deep, beautiful moan, all velvety and gone in reaction to Richie’s change of pace. Through it all he managed to keep up his steady pace, bouncing on his cock, and his face did that invisible whine it always did when he came, because there it was. His cum draped along Richie’s chest, and the added stimulation of his hole clenching tighter around his cock brought Richie there too, not seconds later. Shooting deep inside that tight heat. Eddie rode them through their orgasms, ultimately wrapping his arms around Richie’s shoulders and sitting there in a lose hug for a second when he finally settled down.

It was sloppy, and awkwardly positioned, and not at all what they were used to doing before the accident, but damn, Richie felt like he just had the best sex of his life because he was simply _alive._ He was _breathing,_ and blood was running through his veins and he had not an ounce of a cast on. He had Eddie here, panting on his lap, tight in his arms.

He felt that burn in his throat again, because he had literally cried moments before, because Eddie was that damn perfect. They were sweaty and gross, but he didn’t care, Eddie was in his lap with his arms wrapped around his shoulders, catching his breath because they just made love again for the first time since the accident.

Richie with his sexually focused mind counted this as a check mark, ticking the box in his mind that he was himself again. It was the final box he had to tick. The second to last being that he could pick up his guitar again and just…play _something._ He did both… today… and it was officially the second best day ever. First of course being that fateful February night when they confessed their love for each other.

“Were you… crying at one point?” Eddie asked, officially close to his normal cadence of voice, only a bit breathy and verging on wheezing.

“Uhm… yes.” Richie said, a bit embarrassed about it now, though he knew he didn’t really have to be.

He felt Eddie shift in his arms and press a kiss to his cheek.

“I can’t help it. I just love you so much.”

Eddie chuckled a bit, smiling against his skin, before sitting back again. He sat there in front of him with that adorable blissful smirk on his face, accentuating his plump cherry lips and putting a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. “I love you too… you big sap.” He said as he fixed Richie’s glasses, of which had gone askew at some point in their romp.

“You need your inhaler.” Richie said, with a bit of a smirk on his face.

“Oh, trust me… I know.” Eddie said, officially sliding off of Richie’s lap now, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing up officially, on wobbled legs. “That… and a shower.”

Richie snorted at that.

“You too mister, we are all kinds of gross and disgusting right now.” Eddie said with raised eyebrows, motioning his pointed finger between the two of them.

“I will, damn.” Richie said, bending over to pick up his abandoned pants and shirt to slip back on, eager to get back upstairs, because not only was he parched, but Eddie needed his inhaler and a good part of him wanted to see what else he could do with his guitar.

Eddie bent and picked up his own abandoned pants, slipping them back on and opting to toss his tank top in the hamper instead of putting it back on. Eddie made his way back upstairs, wobbling and relying on the railing similar to how Richie did moments after. Neither of them used to this foreign feeling of trying to walk up the stairs in their physical states. Two months was really a long time when it came to gay sex.

Richie managed to make his way back upstairs, similar to how he made his way _downstairs_ one step at a time and his hand firm on the railing. Eddie had waited for him at the top of the stairs, watching to make sure he was okay, which he was. He was just slow and was also figuring out how his knee wanted to deal with going up the stairs. Eddie’s chest still heaved, and his mouth still hung open like how it did when he needed a dose from his inhaler. That was what urged Richie to push himself through those last few steps as quickly as he could, because the faster he got up those damned stairs, the faster Eddie turned the damned kettle off.

Once he reached the top, Eddie smiled at him softly through his pants and walked to the side table next to the cot in the living room, digging through the drawer for his inhaler. As he did that, five faces turned to stare him down. Bev, Ben, Stan, Mike and Bill were seated in the living room, their faces currently turned his way, some of which reading as if he had just kicked a dog, and some of which were smug.

“What!?” Richie exclaimed to the silent room, as Eddie shook his inhaler a few times and triggered it down his throat.

“I pray for your future children’s innocence.” Stan sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it folks! Richie T. is officially back in business! That business of course being playing his guitar and having sex with Eddie. 
> 
> As always, PLEASE tell me what you think! There's two more chapters left to go in this fic and I am SO EXCITED for everyone to read the next one in the series! I have already started to write it and I am absolutely in love with it already.


	9. What's everyone's favorite food?

“How the fuck is that fair!?” Eddie squealed from across the table. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with ten twenty dollar bills!?”

“You passed go! I _, as the banker_ , am obligated to give you two hundred dollars! What do you mean its not fair?” Richie yelled back, amused and playfully shocked.

“Because Stan just passed go and you gave him two _hundred_ dollar bills!” Eddie was enraged, waving around the stack of mini twenty dollar monopoly bills.

“We have a shortage of hundred dollar bills in the system right now, I only work here, please take it up with my manager.” Richie said, all calm and composed.

“That’s bullshit and you fucking know it.”

Eddie settled back into his seat, tossing his money onto the table and paying Ben the six dollars he owed him for landing on his property.

They have been playing for a few hours now, and Richie was frankly getting bored. He needed something to do other than just pass money and properties around. He only had one property to his name, good old _Marvin Gardens_. He played with no strategy, and bought every property he landed on, However his strategy of having no strategy had resulted in him having to mortgage and ultimately sell all of his other properties because Eddie, Stan, and Bev had houses on their dark blue, green and red properties. They were cleaning house and it was only a matter of time before the rest of them were bankrupt.

It was always fun playing boardgames with everyone, more fun now, because they were old enough to drink. Unless you’re Eddie Kaspbrak whose competitiveness is amplified with the addition of alcohol. He sat across Richie at the table, guzzling his margarita. Bev and Richie had mixed up a giant pitcher for them all to share, because it was verging on summer, the semester was close to being over, and Richie was feeling great. In his period of sobriety induced by hospitalization, his tolerance for any kind of alcohol pretty much vanished. He was as lightweight as they came.

Two margaritas in and he was a bubbly mess of giggles and was overwhelmed with the urge to mess with his adorable hot headed boyfriend across the table, who’s cash was nothing but fifties, twenties, tens, fives, and ones. He had _a lot of money_ too. Having owned all of the railroads and had all of the red properties housed up, he also owned the other two yellow properties. Richie was clinging to the third yellow property, simply because he thought the name was funny and he knew how much Eddie wanted it so he could have the set and ultimately put houses on them.

“Richie, fucking _go._ ” Bev urged next to him. Pulling him from his daydream.

“God damn, that time already huh?” He joked as he sat up in his seat and set his glass down on the table. Bev had really gone all out on the margarita stuff, she even went to the dollar store and bought seven margarita glasses, at one point towards the beginning of their drinking they were even salting the rims.

Richie grabbed the dice and gave them a roll, hoping to land on free parking or to get his ass thrown in jail, either of the two would be nice because free parking was fucking _loaded_ with cash _,_ and three turns in safety sounded pretty nice right now with the gameboard being set up not at all in his favor.

He, as the shoe game piece, landed on a chance space. He picked up the card and read aloud the following.

_“Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”_ He said it in his sing-songy voice directed across the table at Eddie who was really looking forward to Richie landing on one of his red spaces coming up.

Eddie just crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, flicking Richie’s shoe across the board towards the jail space.

“You’re just mad, ‘cus you can’t take the rest of my money.” Richie teased.

“I just can’t believe you’re still in the fucking game! You have five dollars and _one property_.”

“One property that you want!”

“I wish I had a few _hundred dollar bills_ to give you for it!” Eddie yelled. Stan, who sat next to him sighed his eyes closed and plugged his ear on the side in which Eddie sat. Richie couldn’t help but erupt into snorted giggles.

“Okay, I’m going to take my turn before Eddie flips the damn game board.” Bev said, reaching for the dice.

She strolled right past park place and boardwalk, passing go and landing ultimately on one of Ben’s brown properties. Richie bit the inside of his lip to suppress the urge to cackle as he retrieved two crisp one hundred dollar bills from the banker’s box, handing them nicely to Bev. 

“Okay. I’m fucking done. Goodnight everyone. Next time, Richie is _not_ banker, I have no idea why we all thought this was a good idea.” Eddie stood dramatically, grabbing his glass and tossing his mess of bills to the center of the board, ultimately making a mess of everything.

Richie was a giggly mess, and Bev couldn’t help but snort too, but then shook her head as if she was ashamed she let it slip. Everyone else did their own version of a whine and an urge for Eddie to come and sit back down.

“Oh man… he’s actually _super pissed at me I think…”_ Richie whispered to Bev, though it was more of a stage whisper. He glanced behind himself towards the kitchen before reaching for his glass and finishing off his drink.

“I think he is… you better go make it up to him.” Bev chuckled, helping the rest of them clean up the game.

Monopoly was never a game they usually finished, it was tough because there were seven of them, and games lasted _extremely long_ with seven people. It took forever for someone to finally have a full set to even begin putting houses down, and then it took another eon for people to actually start getting bankrupt. Most games ended because they were all exhausted, pissed, or bored.

Richie stood up, on wobbly legs, but not because of his knee, because that felt pretty great, it was because he was _drunk._ He was _drunk as hell_ and it felt great, because he could do shit like that now, he could be a normal twenty-one year old.

He stumbled into the kitchen, in search of his boyfriend. He was no where to be found, his glass was empty, in the sink, having also finished off his drink before abandoning it. Richie then stumbled through the hall in the kitchen leading to the living room, running his hands across the wood paneling for stability.

 _“Eddie-bear?”_ Richie sang through the house. A thought crossed his mind of him being in the basement before his eyes found him lying on the couch in the living room, the one that used to be a cot, now folded back into its couch form across from their television. “Awe, there you are…”

Eddie groaned and pressed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets. “Please Richie… please… stop _fucking calling me that.”_

The nick-name was by far Eddie’s most hated nick-name, having been called “Eddie-bear” by his mother for their entire childhood, Richie found himself saying it far too often, and it was hard to break the habit. Its effect was starting to wear off though, because Eddie thought less and less of its association to his mother every day, because he _still_ hasn’t talked to her since they told her about their relationship.

Richie walked over to the couch and stared down at Eddie. He really was frustrated, his palms were working into his eyes, and his arms were flexing with the force of it, his cheeks were red, and Richie noticed that his neck was too.

“You’re super fucking mad at me huh.”

“I just don’t understand why _I_ am always the one you single out! Like why couldn’t you give _fucking Stan_ a butt-load of small bills!? It’s so frustrating!” Eddie whined. He was super fucking wasted and had no control or possibly even awareness of what was coming out of his mouth.

Richie felt the familiar dread come over him that usually did in moments like this, when Eddie was pushed to his limit, and got _mad-mad_ at him. His mind was going a mile a minute and all he could do was stand there thinking _‘oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.’_

“Oh shit… Eds… Ed- _sie_ I don’t know…” Richie mumbled as he dropped to his knees next to the couch, wanting to be more at Eddie’s level.

“Don’t—fucking sit on your _knees like that…”_ Eddie’s voice was a defeated plea, pushing on Richie’s shoulder gently.

“Oh fuck… yeah I forgot for a second…” Richie chuckled a bit at the fact that he had completely forgotten that he had to have his knee surgically put back together months ago, and then he heard Eddie sniffle. “Wait are you _crying!?”_ Richie jumped up into a crouched position.

“I don’t know… _I just… don’t like that you did that!_ Just because _I_ was winning you had to go and put a wrench in everything! It was funny the first time and then it was just so mean every other time…” Eddie was getting himself so worked up he was starting to sob, and Richie felt himself start to cry to, his bodies last resort. Eddie blubbering and crying usually had that reaction on him, but now it was amplified because it was over something that _he did._ He felt _so fucking bad about it._

“Eddie I’m so sorry.” Richie wailed.

“No, you’re not, you’re lying… you thought it was funny.” Eddie wailed back.

Richie was so distraught as to what to do so as he cried he stood up and sat down in the section of couch where Eddie’s feet were. He pushed his fingers into his eyes beneath his glasses and cried, an honest cry that he felt in his stomach.

Next to him Eddie did the same, they both kind of cried and wailed unaware of the conversation between their friends right in front of them.

“I mean… I feel like we’re in third grade again…” Bill said.

“Should we do something?” Ben asked.

“Well what did we do back then when they got like this?” Bev asked.

“We would usually just ignore it.” Stan said. “Let them work it out for themselves.”

“Well, that’s what _you did Stan.”_ Bev said laughing.

“No, I think he’s right. Remember that one time in middle school when Bill tried to comfort Eddie and he started screaming so hard we had to bike to his house and sneak in through his window to get one of his inhalers?” Mike said, from his spot leaned against the doorframe of the dining room.

“Oh shit… yeah Mike’s right. Nobody touch them.” Bill said.

Richie cried so hard he could barely hear Eddie’s cries next to him. He didn’t know what to do, and in his clouded mind, all he could focus on was the fact that he made Eddie _really upset._ He was completely unaware that everyone had crowded into the living room collectively nervous about what was going on, then decided on their plan of action, and filed back into the dining room and kitchen, as a kind of stand-by if things were to escalate.

 _“Eddie… I’m so sorry.”_ Richie said between cries when he had enough composure.

Next to him, Eddie sat up and crossed his legs. “Why are _you crying?”_

“Because _you’re crying…_ ”

They both kind of sat and cried in each other’s faces for a second.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t giving you hundred dollar bills.” Richie wailed.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with twenties Richie!?” Eddie wailed back.

_“That was the point of the joke!”_

They both cried for a few more seconds, Richie felt his shoulders shake and his head start to spin, he was really _fucking crying_.

“You’re actually sorry?” Eddie asked, sniffling now, no longer wailing with dramatic, emotional sobs.

Richie’s face crumpled behind his sob, pent up emotion doing that to his expression.

“That was so mean what you did, that really hurt my feelings.”

“I know, I feel really bad about it now.”

Eddie sniffled and wiped away his tears on the inside of his shirt, taking a few deep breaths. Richie did the same, pushing his glasses up into his hair to dry his eyes.

“I forgive you.” Eddie said then, a childish kind of tone to his voice.

“Thank _God…_ ” Richie groaned; he wasn’t sure what his next drunken plan of action would be if Eddie was still mad at him.

Eddie just rubbed his hands over his face a bit, sniffling some more, composing himself and blinking frequently. Richie just watched him, with relief in his heart and the thought of how adorable he was on his mind.

“Why are you watching me?” Eddie asked.

“I don’t know, I just like looking at you.” Richie slurred and sniffled a bit himself, tugging up the collar of his shirt to dry his face some more.

“I like looking at you too.” Eddie agreed, nodding his head and furrowing his brows, as if it was a sure thing.

Richie nodded back, he didn’t really notice that his vision was blurry because his glasses were still pushed into his hair, so he just kind of squinted at him to try and focus more on him.

“I’m sorry I got mad.” Eddie said scooting a bit closer to him then, Richie could then see his eyes a little clearer in his vision and saw that they were darting about his face, from his eyes to his hair to his lips. “That was actually kind of funny now that I think about it.”

Richie smiled through his sniffles. “See, I told you it was funny.”

Eddie smiled back and chuckled a little, he was leaning forward a little absentmindedly, and Richie saw how pretty he looked, his cheeks all red, lips plump and cherry colored, face now enamored instead of a weeping mess.

Richie dipped his head to continue gazing at his face, because in his drunken state it was his favorite thing to do. For Eddie, it apparently was too because he just kind of stared back at him.

“I still really like your new hair cut by the way… I think you look like a hot rock n’ roll guy.”

Richie couldn’t help but giggle then, because what Eddie just said came entirely out of the blue. Richie and Bev had touched up his mo-hawk situation a bit a few days ago, Bev having had a bit more practice with the clippers was able to fade it really well on the sides of his head, fading his hair above each of his ears into nothing and blending the hair pretty nicely on either side with the rest of his hair.

“I think… that next we should do like… a color or something… like blue… or pink.” Richie said, growing experimental in his drunken state.

“The whole thing?” Eddie asked, scrunching his nose a bit.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Richie asked, leaning a bit closer into Eddie’s space, just dying to see more of that face.

“I think you should do… a streak or something… not the whole thing.”

“Where should we do it though?”

“Right… here I think…” Eddie sat up on his knees and buried his hand in the bunch of hair at the back of Richie’s head.

Richie couldn’t bare it any longer, and Eddie couldn’t either, they dove into each other’s lips. Connecting fiercely and swiping against each other in an uncoordinated sloppy mess. Eddie swung his knee over Richie’s lap and settled there as Richie’s hands got to work exploring his sides, ass and thighs. It was sloppy and messy and charged with cravings and desire.

Whenever they were under an influence, this is usually how their night ended. Their lips connecting, because they didn’t have to suppress their mutual urges now. Though with smoking weed it was _far more arousing…_ because Eddie refused to actually _smoke the weed…_ Richie shot-gunned his hits for him. Their mouths so close and their urges so strong by the time they reached the butt of their joint Eddie was taking hits from Richie’s lap. It was just something they did, it was a routine in a night of being under the influence. It usually didn’t lead to anything to sexual, just grinding, hickies, and groping. It usually ended there, because it usually started in the living room when all of their friends were around.

 _“Okay… okay_ they worked it out!” Bev called from the dinning room.

Her voice registered in Richie’s mind, but it was hard for him to focus on anything else with Eddie in his lap and his lips on his own. Bev and Stan entering the room was something that went entirely over Richie’s head until he felt a tap at his shoulder.

“Here… drink this… both of you.” Stan held out a glass of water for each of them. Eddie wiped the back of his hand over his lips and sat back on the couch next to Richie, taking a glass of water from Stan as Richie did the same.

“You two were fighting like toddlers not five minutes ago, I think it’s time for bed.” Bev commented as they both drank their water.

* * *

Richie had woken up and promptly gone back to bed maybe five times now consecutively. He didn’t even want to know what time it was, and how much of the day he’s waisted to accommodate for his massive headache and general fogginess from his hang over. He lay there now, blinking himself awake and finding that his head was where his feet were supposed to be in bed, something that happened on occasion for him. The sun was _blinding_ through the little half windows towards the ceiling of their room, and Richie knew it had to have been well past noon.

He tugged the blanket over his head and turned to his side, more specifically, turned towards Eddie’s side of the bed and was surprised to find him still there. Well, his feet and legs still there. He put his hand underneath the side of his head and let his finger run along his scar as his hand settled into place. His head was _searing_ with pain, and he knew it would be mostly cured with a few aspirin and a cup of coffee, but getting out of bed sounded like so much fucking work, so he stayed.

He knew that Eddie was still asleep by the sound of his breathing and the fact that he was still actually in bed. Soft deep breaths and the occasional twitch of his foot were indicators as well, his twitching foot was something that he’s done for as long as Richie could remember. Alongside Eddie’s breathing Richie heard the sounds of footsteps and chatter upstairs, and this was indication that it was _actually_ past noon. Eddie was usually someone who woke up at six in the morning, to go on a jog before going to work. For him to still be in bed was a reminder of _how much they drank_ the night before. Richie didn’t feel all that queasy, at least he didn’t _yet_ , or he may have at some point earlier in the morning and he just doesn’t remember.

He felt a yawn coming on, and that only made his headache worse, flinching so bad from his yawn that he had to roll onto his back from how much it hurt, taking a deep breath immediately after as a reflex. His body’s attempt at getting oxygen to his brain.

The headache was _bad…_ but it was nowhere near the headaches he had in the hospital, his stage three concussion induced migraines were debilitating, he could barely move, he just had to sit there with his eyes closed until it went away. Eddie was always so sweet in those moments, knowing that he was going through one of those bursts of raw pain, running the soft pads of his fingers across his forehead or down his arm. Richie smiled to himself and reached a hand towards Eddie’s leg, patting him somewhere on his knee, bent because he was on his side, facing Richie. He heard him clear his throat and shift awake a bit.

Eddie’s hand found Richie’s ankle and squeezed it a few times as if trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

 _“Why are you down there?”_ Eddie asked, all grumbly and weak, he was in the same state as Richie now, all achy and regretting how much drinking happened the night before.

“I don’t know.” Because he honestly didn’t.

Eddie chuckled a bit and Richie shifted beneath the covers to correct himself, crawling up the bed to rest his head on his pillow. He kind of flopped face down into it though, too exhausted to bother flipping over to his back. Eddie’s hand found his back and rubbed circles into it.

“Did you throw up?” Eddie asked.

 _“Not sure…”_ Richie said, muffled by his pillow. _“Did you?”_

“Yeah… at like ten or something…” Eddie said, through a yawn.

 _“Damn… that probably sucked…”_ Richie mumbled the first thing that came to mind.

“Yeah it fucking did.” 

_“What do you think would happen if we just sleep for the rest of the day?”_

“I think our sleep schedules would be super fucked.”

_“That’s not the worst thing in the world…”_

“Yes it is.” Eddie said, sitting up now.

Richie peaked at him out of the corner of his eye with a turn of his head that was still pressed into his pillow. He was sitting up and rubbing at his face. Richie turned more to his side and tugged the blanket closer to his chin. He really _did not_ want to get up right now, or any time soon to be frank. He was exhausted from last night. Last night, when they drank way too many margaritas and played a game of monopoly… last night when—

“What a second… did we fight last night?” Richie asked, remembering now how much he was crying and how Eddie was yelling through his own fit.

Richie watched as Eddies shoulders bobbed with chuckles. “Oh _God…”_

“You got so fucking _mad_ at me.” Richie laughed a bit too.

“Yeah… that was fucking… crazy…” Eddie looked to Richie and in one swift motion he was beneath the covers hugging against his torso, he was warm and soft with sleep and Richie wrapped his arms around him in such a way that let his head to rest on his bicep.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Eddie said, burying his face into Richie’s chest a bit, obviously embarrassed about that whole fiasco last night.

“I’m sorry I was being the world’s shittiest banker.”

“That was so embarrassing.” Eddie sighed against Richie’s bare skin.

“No, it was actually kind of fun, and refreshing, we haven’t fought like toddlers in a few years, I think that it was time to.” Richie dipped his head and buried his face into Eddie’s hair, enamored with the scent of it.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work, toddlers fight like toddlers.”

“Well, so do extremely drunk boyfriends apparently.” Richie pointed out.

 _“Apparently…”_ Eddie agreed.

Richie chuckled a bit and planted a kiss into his hair before settling his head back into the pillow, letting his hand stroke along Eddie’s back.

“Hey, what do you say we play together today? You, Bev, and I… and maybe Bill if he’s figured out how to play something other than _Ode to Joy_.”

“After a shower… but also after my fucking headache goes away…”

“Oh fuck, yeah my head is going to explode any second.”

“Here let me get us something.” Eddie said, squirming out of Richie’s arms and walking over to the bathroom.

Richie rolled onto his back and let his head fall to the side, looking over to his guitars mounted up on the walls. He thought about what he was feeling, thought about what songs he might want to try out with everyone later, but he couldn’t really think of anything but… _that song._ That one he thought about so long ago in the hospital, with Eddie at his side and love on the brain. He thought that he might be able to play it, having been a slower, some might say _easier_ piece. He was still struggling with his skills, and getting his hand to cooperate.

He hummed a bit of the opening lyrics, and thought about chords would go well with the tone of the notes. He couldn’t _entirely remember_ what the music behind the singing sounded like, despite having _heard it a lot_ growing up as well as having listened to that album a lot in the hospital.

He hummed and hummed and thought about how he wanted a guitar to sound with the lyrics. Eddie came out of the bathroom then, carrying two of those tiny little paper Dixie cups that he insisted on keeping in there. He did one of those questioning scrunched up smiles, as if wondering what Richie was up to with his humming. Richie sat up and took the cups as Eddie held them out to him, tipping the one with the medication into his mouth, and following that one with the one that had water. He tossed the cups into the trash and thanked his loving boyfriend with a smile and a kiss on the cheek as he stood up and slid his glasses on.

“I’m going to shower… I can’t remember if I did last night or not and I feel nasty.” Eddie said running his fingers through his hair.

“Well I can tell you right now that you didn’t, because that’s the same shirt you wore yesterday… and you smell like a million bucks.” Richie teased, and it wasn’t a lie because frankly, Richie loved the way Eddie smelled right now.

“Oh God.” Eddie groaned, and pealed off his shirt and dropped it in the hamper before pulling a fresh set of clothes out of his dresser and disappearing into the bathroom.

Richie stretched a bit, a new routine that Eddie insisted that he did in the mornings, though it wasn’t really _morning_ anymore. He had a few stretches that he was supposed to do with his leg, that he has memorized now. It was almost like a yoga routine that he had to run through, the required set of stretches from Doctor Carter as well as a few that Eddie had thrown in _‘for his wellbeing.’_

The whole thing lasts maybe a few minutes, and it added some structure to his days that consisted of a whole lot of _not much_. He usually spent his days hanging out with Eddie, following him around town if he had errands to run, or simply just _following him around the house._ Days when Eddie was at work, Richie would practice his guitar, always with a bit of frustration when he would play alone, furrowed brow and clenched jaw because of how much it hurt his arm, but he’d never say that to Eddie. He was just _so fucking determined_ to get back to where he was, craving so much of what _used to be_.

When he played with the others, it never hurt too badly though, because the songs they played weren’t in the style that he played by himself. By himself, he plays his guitar as a stand-alone song, there’s a bass line, a melody, and even harmony on the strings all at once. A task that could be straining for him in his current state. But when he played with others, he could just be the lead guitar, he didn’t really have to handle so much of everything else. It was _fun_ playing with them. It was that feeling that he missed with music. It wasn’t _frustrating_ , it was _fun._

He walked to his guitars then, hanging up on the wall. He dragged his fingers along each of their sets of strings, his electric sounding light and airy with its lack of amplification, and his acoustic echoing its warm familiar chord in its body and around the room. He picked it up off of the stand and sat down on the couch with it. His headache had faded a bit, from just _getting out of bed._ His stretches might have helped too, but either way, he felt up to figuring out the song that’s been on his heart since January, almost four months ago now. Four months since the accident.

He slouched over the guitar, feeling its weight in his lap, humming out what he believed the chords to be. He didn’t really feel the need to figure out a melody, because he figured the piece should be sung more than anything. Maybe someday, he’ll figure out a melody to back up his vocals, but right now he just needed something to sing over. A set of chords he could change up every few bars. He started on the low end, remembering the base line of the original piece. Then figured a few notes that’ll ultimately match up to it.

He’s never realized how much of the song he’s had memorized until he really sat down and focused on it. All those times growing up, listening to his mom play her music and singing along to it. Or humming it as she drifted around the house when it was just the three of them home. He’s heard the song all his life, but never really understood it’s impact, what the lyrics meant. Until he met Eddie of course. He felt the love that was expressed in the song. He felt it from either perspective, because Eddie loved him fiercely, and he loved him just as much.

He sang a bit of the first part of the song, feeling it in his throat, letting his vocal cords adjust. He’s never prided himself in having a good singing voice, though he’s been told often that he’s a pretty good singer. He’s always first shown pride in his guitar playing abilities, feeling that his voice was there only to accentuate whatever he was playing on his guitar. This was one of the first times when it was the other way around. He was playing his guitar to accentuate his voice. It was a strange and foreign turn of events, but something in his heart just urged him to, he wanted to sing the song for Eddie.

 _“The first time… ever I saw your face…”_ He sang softly, hunched over his guitar listening closely to the way the chords on the guitar accented his voice, listening to see if it worked.

He grew pretty comfortable with the song, playing it all the way through once. It was an easy song to play after all. The back track of the song was nothing too special, it was kind of there for artists to get creative with it, so he was able to play what he felt comfortable with for now.

Eddie’s showers usually took about a half an hour all together whenever he shaved and did his whole routine. He was thorough to say the least, he scrubbed himself clean, sometimes even going so far to scrub underneath his nails with some brush that he claimed was meant for things like that. Richie smiled at the thought, just Eddie being Eddie, as he practiced the song some more. His smile lingering as he sang the lyrics softly to himself.

His head was still a little foggy, with his lack of coffee and general hangover, but through it he was still able to feel so fiercely for the song, thinking about his boy, with a goofy grin on his face.

He heard the shower turn off, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before Eddie would come out of the bathroom, so he focused more on the chords and their transitions. He hunched forward a bit more, really listening and deciding if they really worked. He wasn’t entirely happy with the guitar part of the piece, but he’s only been working with the song for maybe thirty minutes.

The bathroom door clicked open, and out came Eddie, tossing his used towel and dirty clothes into his hamper. “What are you working on?” He asked.

“Just something for you, my love.” Richie said, feeling all kinds of gooey with love and adoration for Eddie in that moment, having analyzed the lyrics and felt deeply for their message.

Eddie couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face as he walked over to him then, the kind of smirk that appled his cheeks and squinted his eyes. “Well, let me hear it.”

“It’s not done… or probably even very good…”

“So what, I still want to hear what you’ve got so far.” Eddie encouraged him as he sat down on his drum stool right in front of where Richie sat now.

Riche was never one to really feel embarrassed about his playing or to feel weird about people _hearing_ him play, up until recently that is. Ever since he delved back into his guitar playing, he’s felt these things that he never really did before, because he knows what _he could_ do, hell, what he _was doing_. How much _better_ he used to sound, how he could work for a few hours and bust out a fucking zeppelin guitar solo, no sweat. Now, he had to practice shit over and over and over, _easy_ stuff. Stuff that he would have down perfectly in ten minutes a few months ago. It was frustrating, and sometimes infuriating, but he had good people around him, _great_ people around him, that kept him from being too hard on himself.

“Okay, if you insist spaghetti-man.” Richie said, he felt his cheeks redden a bit, something that also didn’t happen before.

Eddie leaned forward and rest his chin in his hands, elbows pressed into his knees.

Richie took a deep breath and cleared his throat, still a bit groggy with sleep. He settled the guitar better on his lap and adjusted his hold a bit, so his diaphragm was elongated.

He strummed a bit on his guitar to start the piece, setting a baseline for the chords and even plucking a few of the select notes in the piece. Motif’s of vocal melody that was soon to come.

 _“The first time… ever I saw your face...”_ He sang the first line of the song, his face starting out a bit serious and focused, slipping more into his toothy lopsided grin once he got a look at Eddie. Whose own smile grew, stretching his pretty lips and bringing a redness to his cheeks, freckled from the sun.

 _“I thought the sun… rose in your eyes...”_ This line really resonated with Richie, because Eddie’s eyes were pools of golden sunshine when they caught in its rays.

 _“And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave…”_ His eyes tore away from Eddie and looked to his hand on the strings, reassuring that his fingers were about to transition into the correct cord. _“To the dark and the endless skies…”_

His range was no were near as high as Roberta Flack’s, he was more of a tenor, an alto if he tried, but a tenor right now for sure. His voice was deep, so he sang the song a bit differently compared to Roberta, he didn’t carry the same notes as long as she had, only doing so when he felt the time was right to.

 _“The first time, ever I kissed your mouth… I felt the earth move in my hand…”_ This line was another resonation for him, something that he really felt happen. Over a year ago now, on that stormy spring night, so emotionally charged with so many things left unsaid, Eddie stepping forward with his confession with such bravery that Richie felt so much adoration for. His hands on his face, cold and wet with the rain, but still so alive beneath his touch. Their lips pressing together sending electricity through his senses, life through his veins, love through his heart. _“Like the trembling heart of a captive bird… that was there at my command, my love…”_

Eddie sat there, still with his chin rested on his hands, eyes glimmering in the rays of the sun through the window behind Richie’s head. His hair damp and tufted every which way, cheeks red, whether it was from the song or his shower. He was all kinds of fresh and beautiful.

 _“And the first time, ever I lay with you… I felt your heart so close to mine.”_ Richie felt his head wag a bit as he held the note, high up on his range and a bit hard to reach with his voice still so tainted with sleep. He reached it none the less and was satisfied enough with it to hold it for a few beats. _“And I knew our joy would fill the earth… and last till the end of time, my love.”_

He really felt as if their love was timeless, it was strong. They’ve learned that these past few months. It was sturdy, it had a strength that Richie felt could withstand the march of time, the happiness they felt together was just too good to allow it to fade away. He felt faith in the fact that it never would.

 _“The first time ever I saw your face…”_ Richie looked into Eddie’s eyes, _deep_ into Eddie’s eyes, as he watched him with that enamored look. _“Your face…”_

Richie held the note for a while, and felt satisfied with the cord he held on his guitar, deciding to end the song there. Feeling that the song came to a natural close.

Though the poem of the lyrics was only a few stanzas, they meant so much, he felt he was able to recount times in their relationship when Richie really did feel those things. When he really did feel like Eddie hung the stars in the sky and when their joy together was just so much of an entity that he felt it could take up physical space.

Eddie sat there smiling at him for a second, then he reached a hand to hold Richie’s that had just strummed on the strings of his guitar. “Richie, that was beautiful.”

Richie just snorted and dropped his head, turning it a bit to the side to stare off at something on the floor. Surprised that Eddie could really feel that way about a song he had put together in a half an hour, and played so choppily on his guitar with his fucked up arm.

“No, I’m serious!” Eddie said, standing then, to sit next to Richie on the couch, kneeling next to him on the cushion and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “You are the sweetest fucking man in the entire world.” Eddie said and kissed the side of his head a few times, over and over again, leaning his body against Richie causing him to lean right back, and wrap his arm around Eddie to hold them steady.

Eddie sat back on his ankles and held Richie’s face steady to look him straight in the eyes. “Hey.” He said, to grab Richie’s full attention.

Richie just raised his eyebrows and nodded, acknowledging that he got it.

“I love you.” Eddie said, with a bit of a nod, a definite thing, like he knew for sure.

“I love you too.”

* * *

“Eds, give us a little high hat on the offbeat. Let’s see how that sounds.” Richie instructed, from his seat on Bev’s piano bench, right next to her as she sat behind him facing her keyboard.

“Like this?” He sampled a few beats of the high-hat for him, tapping his foot on its petal a few times. “Or like this?” He did the same thing, only a bit harder so the sound was a bit sloppier.

“The second one for sure.” Richie nodded, goofy grin on his face, eager to get back into the song. “Okay let’s go from the chorus.”

They’ve been piecing together _Don’t You (Forget About Me)_ by Simple Minds. A messier rendition of the song, with far more guitar and intricate keyboard to make up for the lack of baseline they had.

Bill and Mike were sitting on the couch listening, Bill asking a few questions every once in a while when he was wondering how Richie did something with the settings on his electric guitar, or making a few suggestions, some of which they took. Mike tapped on his foot what he would imagine the bassline to be in his head.

The way they found themselves playing the piece was _very far_ from the original song, the structure of the song was there, the chords were mostly the same, and the time signature was there as well, but the style in which they played was far more alternative, _weirder_ to say the least. When they would run through it, Richie would mumble the lyrics as an imitation to how the song was sang originally, it was funny, and got a laugh out of everyone half of the time. When they got really into it though, going through a serious run of the song, he sang it seriously, in his own style though, he was intentionally not looking to sing like how Jim Kerr sang the song, it simply didn’t match with the way they were playing it now.

The style kind of morphed into what it was because of the way Eddie played the drums, he _loved_ playing loud and obnoxious, intrigued by intricate beats and riffs. Richie kind of played to match how he played the drums, and Bev did the same.

“Now Mike if you had a bass guitar here’s where your solo would be.” Richie said, only _partially_ joking on both accounts, those of course being a bass guitar solo and Mike _playing_ said bass guitar solo.

“I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again, I played the _upright bass._ ” Mike said. “I don’t know how to play the bass guitar.”

“Oh come _on…_ how different can it be?” Richie said.

“I don’t know! Different enough!” Mike said back, laughing a bit now.

It was a back-and-forth they’ve done countless times. Richie pointing out the fact that Mike used to play a variety of instruments in his day, never really committing to one. Most of his musical career, however, was the trombone, but there was a good chunk of it that he spent playing the upright bass in a jazz group he and his dad were in.

“Well we’ll see I guess…” Richie said.

They ran through the song a few more times, making a few adjustments here and there. Eventually Stan came downstairs too, sitting on the steps just watching and listening. Richie occasionally got on his ass too, because he used to play the trumpet, from middle school up until their sophomore year of high school. In fact, the only one he hasn’t confronted about joining in on their little jam sessions was Ben, and that was because, well, he’s never played an instrument in his life, or really even expressed a _want_ to play an instrument. He’s always figured that eventually they’ll find something for everyone to do.

Richie eventually stood up with his guitar strapped around his shoulder, tapping his foot and bobbing his head to the music, standing closer to Eddie’s bass drum to physically feel the beat in his gut. The piece was _so different_ to the original now, pretty much the only thing that was still the same was the lyrics, no more extended measures of rests on the guitar or clean contained bars of melody, it was sloppy and messy, loud and alternative. It was fun playing like this, so fun that he completely ignored the little thread of pain in his wrist when he flexed his arm to play to hard.

His voice was growing strained from how loud he had to sing to be heard over the music, but he couldn’t care less, he was living in the moment, engulfed by sound and the thrill of creating something. He was overjoyed to be doing it with his friends and felt that he never wanted this to end.

“Guys… we should start a band. Like a _real band_.” Richie said once they finished running through the song.

“What do you mean a _real band?”_ Eddie asked as Bev turned around to cross her legs on her piano bench to engage in the conversation.

“I mean like we should _go out_ , and play for people, just like… clubs and bars and stuff.” Richie said, mostly dreaming, but really getting caught in the fantasy for a second.

“Well, it’s only us three…” Eddie said, pointing out the fact that no one really wants to hear a three person band play alternative renditions of eighties pop songs.

“Well, it could _not just be us three…_ ” Richie argued. “Bill’s guitar in the attic is a maybe!”

“That is true, I just _know_ Georgie hasn’t actually looked for it.” Bill added. His electric guitar that he had in high school, rumored to be located in the attic of the Denbrough house would be a great addition to their little ensemble.

“And if we get Mikey on bass, and maybe even _Stan the man_ on trumpet.”

“I haven’t played the trumpet in _years._ ” Stan added.

“Hey, you can figure it out again.”

“Would a trumpet even sound _good_ in a lineup like this?” Eddie asked, sounding a little doubtful.

“Are you kidding? It would sound _so_ good! Just imagine for a second…” Richie put his hands over his head and closed his eyes as if focusing hard on imagining the sound of a trumpet in a rock band line up. “ _Plus_ , I think that’s edgy, and new, and interesting… I think it be cool as hell to have a trumpet in the lineup.”

Stan made a face as if considering and Eddie made a similar face and nodded his head.

 _“Come on guys!”_ Richie emphasized. “Even if the trumpet thing doesn’t happen, don’t you think we should start a band!? We could just play around campus and stuff, there’s plenty of bars and shit we can play at!”

“We don’t have a name… what would we even call ourselves?” Bev asked.

“Well… I don’t know what’s everyone’s favorite food?”

“No foods.” Stan said bluntly.

“Favorite… color?” Richie thought out loud.

“Animal… lets do animal, what’s everyone’s favorite animal?” Bev asked.

“Sharks.” Bill said.

“Puppies.” Richie said.

“Shark Puppy.” Bev said nodding.


	10. Scrap Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am SO SORRY for waiting so long to post this. I wrote it way back in March but i just wasn't happy with it... or really where it was going. I do have plans and have even started to write the next part in the series, but unfortunately i don't think I'll upload it. I received a lot of feedback on that part (on tumblr) and wasn't too thrilled about a few people trying to push their opinions of band lineups and relationship requests onto me. Over these past few months I have recognized that ultimately I write for my own happiness and haven't really been keen on the whole risk of putting a Shark Puppy fic out there. I am a person that lets feedback and recommendations on my work get to my head, so much so that I end up with a result that I am not happy with, I do not want this to happen with something that I enjoy doing in my free time.   
> You will most likely see more stories from me in the future, mostly because i have written about three fill chapter fics in my time away from posting this. However, I have set a new rule for myself that I wont post something until its 100% finished. I just think its silly to not allow myself FULL creative freedom over my own project that I work on in my free time.   
> Sorry about this whole sort of rant... I just felt like I really owed you all an explanation and I wanted to let those of you who follow my works to know what to expect in the future. Though I'm not even sure you guys will even still be around for this posting.   
> Sorry AGAIN for this whole thing, I'll let you read the chapter now haha! I am really proud of it!

“Are… I mean are you sure? Bev and Ben went with your dad earlier today… they said it’s kind of hard to look at…” Eddie said.

Richie thought about it for a moment… about going to see his car. Eddie had come downstairs and asked him if he wanted to go, came to him as he sat at the couch with his guitar on his lap.

It was taken to a salvage yard after the accident, now undrivable and completely totaled, it was put there to rot and to be robbed of whatever working parts it had left. They found out that they were able to go and see it, and were informed that Richie had to collect his things out of it.

“Yeah… I’m sure.” Richie decided. In all honestly, he _wasn’t sure,_ but simultaneously he felt like he should go. He _should_ see the car.

He should get some closure as well as a clearer picture of what really happened that night... and he could see if some of his cherished cassettes had survived the crash.

“Richie, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Eddie said, sounding unsure about the whole thing himself.

“I mean, _do you_ even want to go?” It was only then that Richie considered fact that Eddie may be uneasy about the whole thing.

“I want to go if you do.” Eddie said, sounding sure of himself and nodding a bit.

“Well, then I guess we’re going.” Richie said, setting his guitar down on the seat next to him.

“Now?” Eddie asked.

“Sooner is better than later right?” Richie was sure that if he thought about it too much he wouldn’t want to go anymore. He would push it to the side, and if being with Eddie has taught him anything, its that confrontation is good.

“Yes… yeah, you’re right.” Eddie glanced to the alarm clock on his side of the bed. It was two o’clock on a Tuesday, so the yard should still be open.

Richie did a bit of a nod. A nervous nod. The kind of nod you do with that tight frown on your face to keep it unreadable. He was trying is best not to worry, trying his best to just… not focus on the fact that he was going to see this fucking car where he almost died… with blood probably staining the seats… _his blood_ staining the seats _._ The car that he’s driven since high school, the car that he and Eddie were driving on that fateful spring evening, when they confessed their love and made things more than what they were.

Eddie nodded back at him, with his bottom lip worried in his mouth and his palms rubbing against the thighs of his pants.

“Okay… then let’s get going.” Eddie said, leading the way up the stairs.

Went had been staying with them, on the fold out couch in the living room, to help tie up a few things with the insurance company at the scrap yard, but mostly to spend time with his son and his kids, kids that he pretty much had a hand in raising.

He was seated now at one of the armchairs watching some silly soap opera with Stan and Mike, all three of which turned to look at Richie and Eddie as they came up the stairs.

“Hey, we’re going to go, uh… look at the car.” Richie said to his dad mostly.

“Okay, do you guys want me to come?” Went asked. “I can come if you want.”

“No, that’s okay, we’ll see you later.” Richie said, waving him off. He knew that if his Dad came, this whole thing would just be more emotional, and it was already going to be emotional enough.

“Okay. We’ll see you guys later then…” Went said kindly. “Maybe we’ll do something fun.” He gave a bit of a smirk.

Suddenly a memory Richie didn’t even realize he had came to mind, he had to have been thirteen or fourteen… he couldn’t really remember now. He had just come home from school, on a day in which Henry Bowers and his gang found him while switching classes, and gave him a rather good shiner for something Richie couldn’t remember now.

He came home through the front door of his house that smelled like fresh bread and some candle his mother always burned in the living room, he never bothered to find out what the actual scent was, but to him it smelled like home. Went was seated in the armchair he always sat in, and glanced over to his son who was obviously trying to hide his face as he ducked into the house.

_‘Hey, where are you off to so fast?’ He called as Richie was trying his best to sneak past him so he could just get upstairs to his room to hide and sulk for the next few hours._

_‘Just… upstairs.’ Was all he could really say without turning his head to look at his dad._

_‘Richie, I’m not dumb… let me see your face.’ Went’s voice was soft with care and kindness, how it always was when Richie was vulnerable. He held out his hand for his son, drawing him in with a wag of it and him sitting up in his chair, setting his news paper and pen off to the side, having been working on a crossword puzzle up until a few seconds ago._

_Richie couldn’t help but shake his head to himself and worry his lip between his teeth, he could have not said a thing, he could have just rushed past his dad and ran up the stairs, but he didn’t. He knew that he didn’t because he loved his dad, he cared about him and he didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not acknowledging him. He went over to him and sat on the chair next to him, the one in which his mother usually sat, working on the sudoku puzzles once Went was finished with the crosswords._

_Went folded his reading glasses and hooked them onto the collar of his shirt, shifting forward in his seat to look at his son’s face, glasses-less and bruised at his cheekbone and around the socket of his eye._

_‘Who gave you this one, bud?’ Went said holding Richie’s chin as he turned his head to get a better look at the bruise._

_Richie didn’t say anything. Not that he wouldn’t trust his dad with the information, just that he didn’t really think he could say anything without crying. He didn’t want to escalate things with tears, he could cry in front of his parents, in fact he cried a lot, he just didn’t want to make a big fuss. He was embarrassed, upset, and frankly just wanted to lay down with his music for a while._

_Went’s hand fell from his face and he did a bit of a sigh, nothing dramatic, just a little release of emotion that he felt for his son, who’s face was beaten by some unnamed kid whose father he really wanted to talk to._

_‘Where are your glasses?’ Was what he asked next, because he realized he could see those bright blue eyes better than he usually could, eyes that matched those of his wife._

_Richie bit the inside of his bottom lip and pulled them out of his front pocket, the folded but crumpled mess of his glasses. Broken across the lens and at one of the temples. Eddie had tried to tape them back together in the class they had together a few periods after the incident, but it was no use. The medical tape was too soft to hold the pieces together, and he could barely see out of the lenses for how badly cracked the left side was._

_He held the mess of his glasses out to his dad, who took them gently, unfolding them somehow and sucking his teeth a bit. They were expensive, but Went didn’t care about that much, they were pretty comfortable when it came to money. It was more of just the visual, really seeing how hard someone had to punch his son in the face to break the temple of his glasses in two and shatter the lens._

_“We could go and get new ones… do you want to go get new ones? We can tell your mother about this whole thing once we get back, she’s got bread in the oven she’s watching over anyway.” Went knew that sometimes Richie wanted to talk about it, rant about it, but other times…_

_“I just want to go lay down honestly.” Richie said, finally breaking and letting the tears spill over his eye lids, crying because of how overwhelming everything was. Crying because of how much he loved his dad for not pushing anything, not demanding answers or details, just letting him take his time and deal with the situation how he wanted to._

_“Okay, take your time… after we could go look for a new pair.” Went said, kindly nodding, because they both knew that Richie needed his glasses desperately, they both knew that Richie spent the rest of his day squinting out the window of his classrooms because he couldn’t see for shit without his glasses._

_Richie nodded and sniffled a bit, comforted by his father’s kindness._

_“Then after… maybe we’ll do something fun.” He said with a kind smirk._

_Richie smirked back and wiped away the tears on his face, nodding all the while._

Richie now though, current Richie standing in the living room he had a share of the rent of, looking at his dad, older now, more wrinkled with time and in an armchair that wasn’t the cozy leather one he grew up used to seeing his dad seated in, nodded. He nodded in that fashion he remembered doing back then, all definite and comforted. His dad picked up on it too, knowing that he had fallen back into his classic parenting ways. Repeating the phrase that he always used to say in times of tenderness and vulnerability.

“Yeah.” Richie said with a little chuckle then, a chuckle out of love that only lasted a second behind his breath.

Richie and Eddie then left the house, with Richie’s hand on the small of Eddie’s back as they walked to the car, he hoped that one day he could live up to the legacy of fathering that his dad had paved the way for. Hoped that one day he could be a dad like his own, so gentle and caring with his kids, fun and loving.

“Okay.” Eddie said, finally turning off the car and taking a few deep breaths.

Richie had been tense since they turned onto the street in which the lot was located. Tense with nervous emotion.

Eddie just sat there, taking those deep, deep breaths that jutted out his chest and raised his shoulders, giving Richie this raised brow expression as if to ask _‘are you really sure?’_

“You ready?” Richie asked, softly so that Eddie couldn’t find the nerves in his voice.

“Are you?”

Richie nodded slowly, and tried not to focus on the fact that there was once some guy in a truck that had to haul his car to this lot as he was floating between life and death on a gurney somewhere, maybe on the way to the hospital, getting CPR, maybe in surgery already, getting CPR again...

Eddie grabbed his hand off of his lap, squeezing it with that same look on his face, as if he didn’t believe him.

“I just… have to get this over with Eds. I can’t dwell on it too much.” Richie chose honesty then, frankly, he didn’t _know_ if he was ready or not, or if he’ll _ever_ be.

“Okay.” Eddie said, giving his hand one last squeeze before unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car.

Richie was close behind, sliding out of the passenger seat onto wobbly legs, legs wobbled now with nerves rather than injury. He walked around to the front of the car, towards the lot in which his own car was. Eddie came up next to him and rubbed circles into his back. They were both having a hard time with this, it was hard for them to hide their true emotion from each other, so intertwined with enamored emotion and time, they just… _knew it_ when the other was feeling off. They didn’t have to talk about how nervous Richie was, or how nervous Eddie was, they could just comfort each other like how Eddie did now, with a hand on Richie’s back, who hugged his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze and pressing a kiss into his hair as they walked.

They each tried to completely ignore the lot as they headed towards the small building located there, where they met with a kind older man, who asked to see Richie’s driver’s license and told them to take their time with the car. They left with a thank you, and the whole exchange was a bit more awkward than it may have been if the context was different.

When they left the building, Richie took a deep breath, a good example of the ones that Eddie was doing in the car moments ago. Eddie turned to him and nodded, as if to say _‘yes, that helps, do that.’_

Richie wasn’t sure if he could touch Eddie without crying so he put his hands into his pockets, deep into his pockets, and scratched his fingers lightly against his thighs as they walked towards the center of the lot. He couldn’t even _look_ at Eddie, or look at the cars, so overwhelmed with the ghosts they carried, experiences similar to his own that may have ended differently. He didn’t want to look for his car either, because now he realized that the feelings that he thought to be nerves, had been fear all along, so he looked to the sky, at the puffy white clouds, and tried his best to find joy in them.

He listened to Eddie’s footsteps, and the way his hands swiped against each other, a nervous habit of his. Richie’s gaze alternated between the clouds and the gravel in front of him. He really didn’t want to confront the visual reminder that his car, his life, his anything was linked to a place like this, where cars that once belonged to people go to die, because they almost did, or may have. It was a thought overwhelming in itself, but to be there, physically, with all of these cars, trying to find his own in the mess of them, was just… too much to confront visually.

He felt a tap at his elbow, and noticed that Eddie had stopped walking, he knew that it could only be because he had spotted the car, because Eddie was actually _looking_ at the cars. Eddie’s bravery and courage was always something that Richie had admired, and was currently something that he was so thankful to Eddie for, but for the life of him he just couldn’t turn around. He stopped walking, yes… but his gaze didn’t falter from the sky, he wanted to watch the clouds billow instead, he wanted to focus on something happy for a minute longer before he confronted a feeling so far from joy.

He found himself squinting and focusing on a particular cloud, watching it softly drift across the sky, so far away, without a care in the world. He felt Eddie’s fingers shift to be his hand, then felt as it rubbed against the back of his arm. Richie felt that ball in his throat come along with the tears to his eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before there were waterworks involved. He couldn’t help but sniffle into a shuddered breath.

_“Oh Richie…”_ Eddie said, soft and caring, pulling his arm into a hug and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. _“I know you’re scared.”_

Richie just kind of rolled his eyes to himself and embraced the tears by whipping them away with his free hand. Eddie always had him _so figured out._

“I just—” Richie took another shuddering breath, the kind that shook his shoulders and chest. “I don’t know why.”

He felt Eddie nod against his shoulder and one of his hands swiped softly along his back, back and forth with a soothing touch.

“Maybe its because you’ll see how bad it really was.” Eddie saw crying too and that was evident from the way his voice sounded, strained and muffled against the fabric of Richie’s shirt.

Richie nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if Eddie could even see it. He wanted to comfort him, he wanted to tug him into his arms, so he did, hooking his arm around his neck and pulling him close. It was kind of a side hug because Richie was still refusing to look even remotely towards his car, still staring at the white billowing clouds in the bright blue sky.

“Do you want to go home?” Eddie asked in that wobbly choked voice.

“No…” Richie said, still frozen in his spot.

He knew he was scared, and that his fear was standing in the way of his actual desires, which of course were to look at his car, examine what it has become and see if there were things in there that he needed to keep. He knew that if he _just… looked_ everything would be easier, he would have the visual, and he could walk up to it, maybe sit in one of the seats, dig through the remains to find his belongings. He knew that with Eddie at his side, he could pretty much do anything, so today… _right now_ should be no different.

“Okay… I’m going to look now.” Richie nodded and swallowed a bit, trying to rid himself of the ball in his throat and bring some composure to himself for what was next.

Eddie’s hand swiped against his back, all kinds of comforting and gentle, everything that Richie needed right now.

“It’s scary… but it’s easier once you know what it looks like.”

Though Eddie’s words were vague, he took them to heart and understood them completely. With a bit of a nod he finally turned his head, away from the serene clouds towards his car.

_“Fuck…”_ Was all he could mutter, in a sort of sigh that was tainted with fear, because his car was a fucking disaster.

If Richie were to have not known the context of the accident, not known that it was his car or who was in it and whether they’re okay or not, he would have thought that they were dead. The driver’s side of the car was completely crushed, along with a good part of the hood. There was no glass left in the car, and the door to the drivers side was pushed so deeply into the car that it had taken up a good amount of the space for the driver to sit.

He couldn’t really take his eyes off of the vehicle, he wanted to see as much as he could, all of it. He walked a bit closer now, well… Eddie kind of lead them closer with a hold of his hand. And now that they were closer, he could see all of the blood. The blood that stained just about the entire driver’s seat, the head rest was covered almost completely, and Richie felt a bit dizzy at the reminder of the scar on the side of his head. Once they moved even closer he saw that it splattered the wheel and trailed across the passenger’s seat.

He realized he hadn’t closed his mouth since he looked at the car, he was in too much shock to close it now. To deep into a trance as his eyes captured the image of all of the glass on the floor and general disaster that was now his car.

“How are you doing?” Eddie asked, his voice was wobbled, and he was obviously not doing too well himself about the whole thing, though he still had the heart to check up on Richie.

“I’m… I’m fine.” Richie said, and his voice wasn’t really there, he was too far into his mild state of shock, noticing now how the trail of blood on the passenger’s seat was drawn in such a way that told the story of how they had to drag his body out. He didn’t sniffle or breathe deeply or anything, but tears, fat with emotion rolled steadily down his cheeks, warm and in a way comforting. A reminder of the fact that he was alive, his body was functioning… he was fucking _standing here_.

“I--… I don’t know how you made it out of this.” Eddie choked, sniffling into the inside of his shirt, _really crying_. Richie did a bit of a double take to him, pulled from his mild state of shock to pull him into a tight hug. Eddie clung to his shirt and sniffled against his chest.

Richie was at a surprising loss for words… he couldn’t say much of anything next to this car, he felt like he had to be silent for some reason. He held Eddie close by the back of his neck and a tight arm around his back, turning to kiss into his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. He was just… so happy to have him… and to be alive.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down and ground himself again. He wanted to look through the car and get it over with, he wanted to check the glove compartment and see about his cassette tapes. He swayed their hug a bit, something he found himself doing a lot, and it helped him especially right now, it helped him in that process of finding himself again.

“Okay…” Richie said when he finally felt all there again. “Lets fucking get this over with.”

Eddie nodded against his chest and sniffled a bit as he took a step back away from him. Richie tried his best not to touch any of the blood on the seats… his blood on the seats as he crawled into the passengers side to look in the center console. He clicked it open and it was just _another_ mind boggling visual of proof that this event really happened to him. Seeing an untouched assortment of his belongings next to just, _so much_ destruction.

He dug through it a bit, mostly junk, old lighters and cigarette boxes, garbage from a habit he kicked _so long ago._ But, among the junk, he found a few of his cassette tapes, which he pocketed. Next was the glove compartment, which didn’t really have anything in it other than a few more cassette tapes and more junk that he didn’t need.

“Okay… is that it?” Eddie asked, as Richie clambered back out of the car.

“Yes…” Richie said nodding. “Wait… no…”

He had to open the trunk.

“What?” Eddie asked, still wiping at his eyes a bit.

Richie crouched again and tried his best to locate the trigger that popped open the trunk, but it was no use, everything was so crumpled and broken it probably wouldn’t have worked if he did find it. They didn’t have the keys either, which would have been nice considering they could have just keyed it open.

“We have to get in the trunk.”

“Okay…” Eddie said, furrowing his brow and picking at his lips with his fingers, obviously thinking about _how_ they could get into it.

Richie stood back, because he was at a loss. They didn’t have the keys, the trigger didn’t work, he wasn’t sure where the fuck to go from here. But, alas, Eddie Kaspbrak was great, and opened the door to the back seat and crawled in, carefully around the glass. Richie crouched next to the door and watched as Eddie ran his hands around the top of the seat, behind the head rests, moving his fingers as if he was keying on a piano as to not prick himself on any hidden shards of glass, until he found it, a tiny little hook of fabric that he pulled which caused the seat to fall forward, revealing the trunk.

“Oh, wow… okay.” Richie said, because up until today, he had no idea cars could fucking, _do that._

Eddie shot him a quick broken smirk and crouched over the seat now fallen to revel the trunk, he ducked his head and shielded the sun from his eyes to try to see into the dark trunk.

“Do you see it?” Richie asked, quick and quiet, because he was still extremely nervous about just… being here.

“See what? I don’t even know what I’m--… oh.” Eddie reached into the dark and moved a few things aside to make room for what he was about to slide out of it.

Richie’s electric guitar case… covered in stickers and all around beat up around the edges. He had forgotten about it entirely for how _little_ he used it. Hell, the case was still in there from _years_ ago when he moved officially into the house he lived in now with everyone. 

Eddie slid it through the hole and Richie helped pull it the rest of the way through and out of the car completely. He found himself hugging it to his body almost, tight, and almost protective. He did it without thinking, without realizing. He could have grabbed the handle but instead he hugged his arm around it, holding it close as his other arm helped Eddie out of the back of the car.

“Are your knees okay? Did you get cut on anything?” Richie asked, all of his nervous tone coming through with his voice, a bit waivered and not as strong as his usual speaking voice.

Eddie nodded and brushed at his knees. “No I’m okay…” His voice was nervous too… it was evident that he just wanted to leave, and Richie felt the same.

He knew that there were probably textbooks and maybe a few things of value in the trunk still, but he just couldn’t care less about them. He had everything he came here for, closure, his cassettes, and his guitar case that he had honestly forgotten about entirely until the thought of leaving crossed his mind.

“Should we go now?” Richie asked… nervous about ultimately making the final decision.

“Is there anything else in there that you need?” Eddie asked, all fast and waivered.

“No.”

“Then lets fucking get out of here.”

Richie nodded his head as fast as he could, he looked to the ground because he didn’t want to look at the car anymore. He’s seen enough. He saw how the paramedics had to cut the seatbelt and where they dragged him out of the passenger’s side door. He saw how every panel of glass that existed in the car was shattered, he saw how the wheel was shifted just about an entire foot, he noticed how that if his hand had been where it was supposed to be on it that night, ‘ _ten and two’_ and what not, he may have lost his hand entirely, but he drove with his left hand at the top of the wheel or rested on the ledge of the window, and he thanked whatever God was real for that habit.

He and Eddie walked side by side to the car, Richie carrying his guitar case by its handle, comforted by it almost. He scratched the nail of his thumb against the leather as they walked, something to do, something to fidget with as his other hand, his _left_ hand repeatedly flexed his fist, a nervous habit he’s picked up on since trying to get better with it. He looked at nothing but the gravel and Eddie’s shoes at his side, refusing to look at those cars again, not wanting to see each of their disasters, imagining stories and envisioning the crashes that may have been linked to them.

Eventually they got to Eddie’s Jeep, meticulously cleaned without a scratch in the paint, a pristine vehicle that notably did not have an ounce of Richie’s dried blood on it, all of the windows were intact, and Eddie was able to easily jump into the drivers side door. As Richie hopped into the passenger’s he gently set his guitar case on the floor behind the seat. It was safe there, no longer in the back of Richie’s scrapped car, in the beating sun, cooking away in a trunk that Richie will never open again. As Richie turned to settle into his seat, he saw that Eddie was looking at him, his classic doe-eyed expression with his mouth pinched and his eyebrows jutted up.

“What?” Richie asked.

“Just… that…” Eddie slid closer to him on the bench seat and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head as his lips found his temple. “I’m so happy you’re okay…”

Richie’s arm wrapped around Eddie’s torso and held him close as he turned more to pull him into a proper hug. Eddie kneeled on the seat and held him tightly around his neck and shoulders. Richie’s face tucked into the crook of his neck and he nodded his head. He didn’t know what to say really, he was still stuck in that state of stunned silence from seeing his car.

It wasn’t long until he was sniffling again, and Eddie was brushing his fingers through the back of his hair and holding him close. They were hot and sweaty from the weather, but neither of them cared, they needed to be close, they needed a physical reminder that Richie was _still here._ He fucking _made it out_ of that damned car. He survived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're satisfied with the ending of the story! I cut out a lot that originally hinted at the next part of the series, I feel like it severely took away from the ending of THIS story though and I wanted to respect this story as much as possible, I did enjoy writing it, it may even be my favorite one I've written, grammar errors and all haha...

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please feel free to comment, and talk to me on tumblr @richiestoeshurt I am super friendly and am kind of dying for more human interaction, even if its just through a screen. Social distancing SUCKS, but i am trying to be responsible and protect those in the world who have autoimmune disorders and what not.


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